Amorous Mort
by DemonTsunami
Summary: AU “How many reasons do you think there are for tying a helpless woman to your bed?” He asked, watching the flittering emotions skitter across her face. A/N: Heero's dead and resurrected, Relena's grieving, and Duo's scheming. HY
1. Prologue: Happy Death Day

**Amorous Mort **

BY: Demon Tsunami

A/N: This fan fiction was inspired by a dream, Gundam Wing, and was kept going by the help of coffee and a lot of Hershey's bars. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and so I hope you enjoy reading it. Review please, even if you're just telling me I suck, it's nice to know.

Disclaimer: I love the Gundam characters, but alas they are not mine and are somewhat resistant to my bribes to become so .

Heero: Because we know what you'd do with us *death glare*

Author: What's a little bondage between friends?

Relena: I'm not even going to begin explaining what's wrong with that…. Let's move on to the fiction.

Author: Okay… *Sigh* here we go...

Prologue: Happy Death-Day

If words could kill, this was their moment. Each word dropped death into the casket, each solemn hymn nailed the coffin shut, and every trembling lip was another scoop of fresh earth on lacquered wood. Ugh. She couldn't stand it; she was driving herself mad, finally. She smiled wryly, finally crazy at last, how funny. The preacher was dressed in the customary black, the thin plastic collar at his throat bobbing as his Addams apple moved to each syllable. The words were pretty, the sermon was spoken in Latin, and although she couldn't fathom a meaning out of the sentences, she knew they were sad by the way the man said them. Rest in peace, she knew that much Latin, and why was it fair that the dead got peace? The living got left in pieces.

Rain was smattering against pale faces, black always washed people of color, that or it was the closeness of death. Could you taste it? Feel it? This thing that stole, claimed what wasn't it's to claim, wretched the living from the taste of life and sealed it with death's kiss, could you see it? She didn't know, there were too many tears in her eyes. Lately she'd been wandering detached, monologing her life to distance herself from reality, or so her over paid therapist claimed. She'd felt the distance long before the she began narrating however, the sad plot seemed so strung out, so day time TV. She knew the ending, the rain splattered and emotionally wrung woman left this square of melting dirt behind her, and escaped into the recesses of a formal limo hiding her sobs in the silken fabric of her gloves. She grimaced inwardly, the painted picture hitting her in slight throbs somewhere around her heart.

She couldn't think of that wooden coffin as him. No matter how lavish the silken interior (as she'd seen at the wake) seemed to make it more akin to a bed then a tomb and the chemicals pumped into his veins seemed to simulate the effect of a peaceful sleep, that body was not her Heero. Same chocolate locks spilled over a face that was more prone to scowling then smiling, and she supposed that his eyes (if they were open) might've been that same deep ocean blue, but none of those things mattered. What lay in that box was just a corpse, and only God knew where the real Heero was, if there was a God at all. She knew now she'd never be one of those stereotypical made-for-TV mourners who stood before the grave site and spoke to the dead person buried beneath the earth; the thought was too morbid, too surreal.

That dead body would never move would never hold her… She gasped, choking on her own tears as the memories flooded her, all the scenes she wished to keep locked somewhere in her heart, where they couldn't attack her. She didn't want that happiness tainted with this, this muddy rain wrecked day in this small cemetery. Forever was a very long time to wait, she though absent mindedly, because that's how long until they'd meet again. Forever.

-*-

"Happy Death Day!" Champagne glasses tinkled, their crystal vibrating noticeably even with the post mortem effects still lingering in his eyes. The metal slab he lay on was very uncomfortable, and he told them so. Two bronzed faces, perfect in every respect, peered down at him over the rims of their glasses with matching expressions of interest.

"Don't tell me you're getting soft," The first teased, his white teeth glittering in the candle light. He leaned against the mahogany dresser, careful to avoid placing his elbow onto the various weaponry neatly organized on the gleaming surface.

"Perhaps we've been too hard on him," The second agreed sadly, "He doesn't seem to be as responsive as usual, are you sure the brain wasn't damaged?" He hefted his weight up, careful of his stiffness, and examined the strength of his new hands, the grace of his new legs. In one swinging motion he had the twin pinned neatly to the wall, the glowing golden skin of his neck covered in one lean hand. The god began to laugh, his throat vibrating with the restricted sound. "No, my mistake, he seems to be in good spirits." When a sharp smile he released the jugular and stepped back examining his room with a keen eye.

"You've rearranged again." He complained, his voice was still thick with misuse, and with a grimace he began scrapping off the ruby red candle wax he'd stepped in.

"Well, dark magic is very sensitive," Rashid commented dryly, "Though I expect some of the details have gotten fuzzy, you do remember why it is you're here with us?" Domtar, his twin laughed, his bronzed body nestling close to his brother as they stared with luminescent eyes at their charge. The champagne glasses were discarded, replaced by two familiar steel rods.

"To serve my purpose," He grated, these vocal cords were horrid. "Is this my new voice?" He didn't like it, too rough. Brushing off the question as he'd never asked he continued, remembering vaguely there was a reason for the formality of this answer. Dying always left him so groggy. "To serve as guardian, protector, and right hand of Rashid and Domtar, Grand Masters of Illusion and to give my life time and time again so that those who are greater than myself may live. I am executioner of my master's enemies, my very name death to those who lay hand against them. I stand once again resurrected as a loyal servant of the Court of Memory." The twins exchanged a glance of mutual amusement.

"Such a mouthful."

"Do you think he remembers this part?"

"I think he wishes he could forget." Mouths cut into feral lines of sadistic amusement, the twins sprung as if connected by unseen strings, lunging in complete synchronicity. Twin Rods, their ends sharper than any man made weapons, sliced through flesh and bone like bread and butter, the thick squishing sound as they struck vital organs. Thus he felt immortal magic steal through his new form, a sensation like ice crawling into his heart and mind, the metal rods protruding from both his chest and skull.

"That always looks painful," One of them mused; he was too far gone to know which.

"He'll feel better tomorrow," the other pointed out off handedly. They removed their weapons, the sickening slush sound echoing inside his ear drums. One twin turned to him, his figure beginning to blur at the edges, sure signs that it had worked. "Don't bleed all over; you'll regret it in the morning." With that heartfelt sentiment the large ornate door slammed shut, and so did his eyelids.

A/N: Well? What do you think? Read & review.

-Demon Tsunami


	2. Chapter 1: Masters of Illusion

**Amorous Mort**

**BY: Demon Tsunami**

**A/N: ** Here goes, the next installment. I'm not patient enough to wait on reviews, so these first three chapters will probably be posted all at once. Also, I suffer from long term laziness, so after this patience will probably be required….

**CHAPTER ONE**: The Masters of Illusion

"Moving?" Hilde inquired absently; she wasn't paying him any attention. He could say that the whole world was on the brink of implosion and she would respond with the same casual attitude. Of course, if the world were on the brink of implosion he'd be breaking out the champagne, but alas, it was not about to implode… but he just might. Frustrated he shook the back of her chair, she dropped her scrying glass and the crystal shattered, uh oh.

"Duo Mayhem Maxwell!" She exclaimed, finally focused on him and him alone. He smiled at her smartly; he would replace her silly little crystal. She could have a mountain of crystals, a whole cavern if it pleased her, but right now he needed that cute little face completely on him. She was yelling still, his little hellion was giving him a tongue lashing, he smiled, and she was so cute when she was pissed. "Oh no you don't Mr.! This is not funny, or cute, I am pissed. Royally pissed! You hear me? You are in big trouble, and I don't mean it THAT way you stupid man!!!" She punched his chest twice, fuming and disheveled, just the way he liked her.

"Baby," He soothed, fingering her short blueberry locks. She yanked her hair away. "Baby, I'm sorry, that was mean." He tried for contrite, but that venom stare of hers ate right through his ploy.

"MEAN?? You're damn right it was mean! What am I going to do with you?" She pouted sourly, eyeing him with disdain from beneath those thick lashes. He recognized relenting when he saw it, and seized his opportunity.

"I was just trying to tell you-"

"Oh, so you can ignore every word from my mouth when you're out all night in the mortal realm doing who knows what, but I can't leave you alone for one moment without getting my scrying glass broken???" She demanded haughtily.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore," He told her with a small grin. She glared at him skeptically.

"You're going to start listening to me?" She asked incredulously.

"No, this time we're BOTH going to the mortal realm."

"So if you don't listen I can at least knock you once good, sounds fabulous, when do we leave?" That was his girl, already packing. She turned back from a half stuffed suitcase, a handful of clothes sliding from one hand. "How long are we staying? Why are we going? Well??" He plucked her off the floor, spinning her once in his arms, causing her to squeal.

"Now, I'd say a month, and I'll tell you when we get there," He answered all three of her questions simultaneously. She shook her head, bemused with his impulsive nature. Suddenly the expression was all serious, and he inwardly groaned.

Sure enough she began snapping orders like a general, a fanatical gleam in her eye as she supervised the excavation of all their needed belongings from the safety and luxury of his estate, to the perils of the mortal realm. He grunted and heaved. Obeying meekly and cursing himself for bringing about the situation that lead to his being used for manual labor. She told him to quit his whining and get his butt in gear.

-*-

How did people do it? A curiosity she pondered as she stared at a coffee menu that looked as if it's seen better days last decade. Not deciding on coffee, although that too for the moment seemed elusive, no she wondered how people went around all day normally. Like nothing was wrong. The whole smile through the tears bit was like metal scrapping on every vein. Even the most simplistic tasks seemed to take her greatest effort as of late. Paper work, always a vice in her daily life, now seemed a problem of epic proportions, and as the mountains grew so did the purple splotches beneath her eyes. She brushed aside her problems, which she seemed to do more frequently lately, hadn't she once been the assertive live in the moment type? She was trying to remember where that motivation had stemmed from, because in the last months it seemed to have deserted her.

"Coffee, as dark and large as you can make it," She told the coffee shop barista. He smiled at her, though she barely took notice of it as she handed him her credit card.

"Thanks," Relena muttered grabbing the warm card board cup by the burn resistant holder. The place smelled of burnt coffee beans and cigarettes, and was far from her normal choice of coffee houses. Still, what the service and atmosphere lacked the coffee made up for in taste, and she took a long appreciative gulp where she stood. Not too long ago she would've been drinking coffee from a new snazzy mug at some ritzy new coffee shop, rushing to get to work as the clock ran out. But her normal stop had been torn down last week, a loss that she'd suffered greatly, and so now she found herself stepping into coffee shops at random trying to find one that fit. Nothing seemed to fit though, and everything was so changed that even though the coffee was sweet and warm she still tasted bitterness at the back of her throat.

She collected herself, running her hands through her shortened hair. She'd cropped it as a sign of mourning, and the new strands felt as unfamiliar as she did in her own skin. The coffee guy, she noticed him now that he was staring at her, gave her a finger wave as she turned from him in embarrassment. Perhaps he was being flirtatious (though she had no idea in this state of mind how to properly respond to THAT) but his keen interest irked her. The cocky set of his thin shoulders, the knowing glimmer of amusement in his oddly colored eyes; she had no time for people who had everything figured out. She wouldn't begin to know what to do with them. By the time she realized she was inner monologing (again) she was already at a cross walk, waiting for the digitized sensor to read that she was there and create an avenue through the early morning traffic rush.

She was surprised she even noticed it, as caught up in her own woes as she seemed to be, moving daily in more of a trance than an emotional state. Still, something about chocolate hair, Prussian blue eyes, and tanned skin was biologically imprinted into her eyesight, and the second she caught a glimpse she was enraptured. Her eyes frantically searching for the glimpse that was probably no more than a cruel trick of her eyes. Tears misted, but her feet carried her of their own accord, and soon she was running like a mad woman chasing figments of her imagination. The concrete was even, luckily for her because she wasn't watching what path she chose being too busy focusing on the direction she'd swore she'd seen him in. Please, please, please…. It was a sad statement to her state of mind that she was wishing this hard for anything, even an illusion of him to comfort herself with. Please, she swore impulsively, please God, I swear I'll do anything, just let him be real.

Much later, long after she'd mentally chided herself for her wild goose chase. Longer even then that evening where she cried long hiccupping bursts into her pillow, recalling the momentary crystal clear view she'd gotten, and wondering in an oddity of thought why she had pictured him smiling. Surely it would've been easier for her mind to conjure him as she'd seem him most frequently, scowling impressively and as distantly as possible. After all that, her biggest regret would be not choosing her words more carefully, or perhaps specifying which deity she expected to answer.

-*-

"How do you find it all?" Rashid enquired, he was lounging on his golden throne like it was a plush recliner. His twin sat to his left in an identical golden throne gazing at the ceiling with an expression of disinterest and boredom. The pearl tile of their man court was hard on the knees, but he remained bowed and kneeling as he spoke, wary of the god's fickle favor.

"Noisy," He told them, "Flashy, and rather mind numbing, but no worse than I expected." He admitted the last begrudgingly, the last century had done nothing for the mortal realm save make it all the more full of bumbling mortals as far as he was concerned. He revised that thought, remembering the fully loaded pistol in his belt that contested to the fact that some constructive inventions had occurred. Still, it was all rather predictable after so many lifetimes, highly advanced weaponry aside.

"I heard you procured some toys," Rashid acknowledged. He surveyed his general with mild interest. The fire power of the new century eluded most of the palace guards, having neither the desire to change nor the foresight to recognize an advantage when they saw one. Rashid knew that resurrecting his general would have advantages, and modernization of his forces was foremost on his list. He had some fortifying to do if his plans were to solidify.

"A few minor devices, this centuries "circuitry" is a bit… complex. I should be able to grasp it and make the necessary modifications," He allowed, and it wasn't boasting. Domtar roused himself out of his slumping posture, turning to stare down at the general with coal colored eyes.

"Leave us," Domtar was the elder twin, though many believed it was the reverse. So immersed in the layers of lies and illusion they'd fed god and mortal alike in both realms, sometimes they even forgot which was which. So, although the twins seemed at times to be almost one person in two shimmering images of perfection, in truth (though they'd likely never admit it) Domtar had the overall say. Rashid's attention drew to his brother's gaze, and a moment of understanding flickered between them.

"Go play with your newest acquisitions, we have matters to attend to," Rashid reinforced, although the man beneath them was already bowing once more and preparing to leave. His obsidian armor glinted in the golden lighting of the room, the large oaken doors expertly carved slammed behind him as he took his leave. Both twins peered at each other in silent communication, their eyes and expressions carrying weights they dare not verbalize. What was _she_ doing here? What had brought her? Her father?

A woman that was still a child entered, bare feet padded across the marble flooring in silent approach. She was beautiful, of that there could be no argument. Small slender limbs, pale and sun freckled lended to an appearance that gave the false impression of youth and innocence. Eyes dappled emerald green and coppery brown were large and thickly framed by yellow red lashes, they stared out of a child's face with an unfathomable intelligence. Her stride was elegant and practiced, her posture regal as she glided towards them, a small smile playing on her pink lips. Both twins, unease apparent in their identical expressions, knelt before their thrones, hair like spun gold touching the pearled marble as they did so. She laughed, and it was like bells chiming, the sound bouncing up and down throughout the hallow room.

"Rashid and Domtar bowing to the daughter of their enemy," She giggled, "Now isn't that just irony?" Unease, like a cold pit touched them, but they dared not let it show.

"My Lady," Rashid's voice was silken, "You are daughter to the God King, and no enemy of our court."

"We are your humble servants," Domtar agreed appealingly.

"Save me the meek drivel, I have no patience for your petty appeasements," She scoffed petulantly. "I didn't come on the behalf of my father." Now their attention was captured, she smiled in satisfaction. "I have matters to discuss with the both of you, things that will undoubtedly not please His Majesty." Nervous glances, they feared trickery or wrath, she was her father's daughter after all. "I understand your hesitance, especially since my interference disrupts your plans for regicide," both, kneeling in front of their thrones, went absolutely still. "I assure you I come to help, my father is much delayed in the Underworld, and I sit proxy on his throne. Though, you will find, my desires don't exactly match my father's will," She smiled at that, how they would be shocked, she was always bent perfectly to her father's wishes. "I weary of his reign, and seek to aid his would-be executioners, but I think that is a discussion best held in private, no?"

"My Lady," Rashid stood in one sweeping motion, his face alit with malicious glee. "We welcome you into our palace, and would be most gratified by an audience with you. Our private chambers are underground, if you'd be so kind to follow us we'll see that you're well accommodated for your stay." She nodded, and then, almost absentmindedly, she spoke.

"Accommodations for my personal guard as well of course?" She asked. Both twins exchanged glances of curiosity.

"You brought your guard from the palace?" Domtar enquired.

"Of course," Although she seldom let her guards leave her father's palace; she'd been well aware of the failing loyalties in this realm and had exercised more caution than usual. Going against her father's wishes left something akin to fear looming in the back of her mind, though she'd never admit it, and so she'd brought those whose loyalties she would never doubt. "Dorothy and Silvia are excellent company, and rather adept at seeing to my needs. I shall need them close to me at all times." Both blonde haired woman entered, their shimmering white clothing that hid their figures face to foot lightly whooshing across the pale tile as they made their advance.

"We'd be happy to oblige," Rashid assured her, but there was a lingering air of unease in the room once again. Deidre hadn't brought royal guards; she'd brought her two personal Generals of her father's army. Two women who acted as assassins and executioners more often than simple soldiers. The five of them made their way to the exit at the back of the throne room, the twin gods leading the way into the gloom of the secret passage that lead to their personal chambers.

A/N: Dun-dun-dun, the plot thickens. Okay, enough of my melodrama. Please be kind and review ect. Ect.


	3. Chapter 2: Goddess of Love

**Amorous Mort**

**AN: **Chapter Two YAY!!

**CHAPTER TWO**: Goddess of Love

Love was supposed to be sweet, or so songs and poems suggested, but Duo never quite overcame the shock of seeing the goddess of love. She was not, as stories long suggest, some leggy scantily clad woman going about seducing men into falling for her, or not anymore anyway. No, she had long tired of men chasing her constantly, when she herself could feel nothing. What kind of joke was that anyway? Duo wondered, to be the goddess of love and be completely incapable of falling in love? Only causing love to surround you, but never touch you, sometimes he wondered how Syria had lasted this long.

"You want tra-la-la-la love baby, go see cupid, that little squirt gets wet just hearing about the stuff," Syria spat her greeting in his face. Well, not so much of a greeting as a rude bitching out followed quickly by a solid oak door coming mere inches away from smashing his face. Duo stumbled back on the step, frowning at the cherry wood door. Surely she'd realize it was him. Any minute now she'd answer the door and apologize. He snorted, yeah, right.

"Oh Darling!" Duo whipped open the door, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Apple of my eye? Where for art thou-OWE."

"Don't quote that shit in my house," She snapped. He rubbed the burning slap mark on the back of his neck, eyeing the goddess cautiously. Couldn't be too careful, she did own a golden bow, and arrows were always so painful to rip out. He winced at the memories.

"Awe sis, is that any way to treat a sibling?" Duo pouted. She eyed him skeptically, running the silver hoop in her lip through her teeth as she contemplated something he couldn't begin to fathom.

"Ugh, come off it bugger," She scowled impressively, "The only time you bring up that cod swallow is when you want something. You know mum hated you." Duo nodded his agreement bashfully.

"And dad tried to kill me during the Iron Age," Duo smiled with a shrug, "Family, eh?"

"Yeah, well," She shrugged, "I suppose you might as well make yourself at home, you always do anyway. Don't touch anything, got that? What's mine is mine, and I don't need your grubby little fingers lifting everything you see." Her house was a crowded mash of décor and useless knick-knacks as far as Duo could see, a bunch of zombie dolls were set up on display and all the curtains were all black lace. It looked like a psycho child's playground with a Gothic decorator, a depressing scene compared to the pink frills and white china lace she'd donned in earlier centuries.

"You're weird, you know that right?" He asked absently as he shot a rubber bat out of a slingshot some minutes later. She was crashing around the kitchen 'making tea', but it sounded more like death metal with the loud banging and occasional swears. She peeked her pale and angry face around the corner, brilliant blue eyes livid and black lips puckered as she sneered.

"Says baby brother, who ran around for half a century claiming to be death and swiping down villagers with his crystal scythe," She remarked caustically, seconds later reappearing with an old metal tea set on a black plastic tray. The two tea cups were from two separate sets, hers a black and purple one and his white with little pumpkins. He was tracing one of the pumpkin figurines on the tea cup handle with his finger when she finally got fed up with his reluctance. "So? Spit it out." She demanded.

Duo sighed, appearing put out as he placed his tea back on the table without taking a sip. The stuff smelled horrid, and he remembered how well she could cook anything, which was to say, not at all. "I just need the true love of one dead mortal and I'll get out of your hair." He gave her one of his most winning little boy grins. He was pretty sure the tea cup cracked when she smashed it down, her sheer shirt's many silver skull bangles jingled with the fury of the motion.

"Well, as long as it's not impossible," She snorted sarcastically. Rolling her eyes she gestured her brother closer with one waggling finger. "Got a secret for ya," He leaned in, indulging her love of theatrics, "THE DEAD DON'T LOVE, because….THEY'RE DEAD. Get it? Go talk to dad, he's the one with all those souls floating around." She referred to their father, the god king of the undead, and a man who Duo feared above all other gods. "If he's gotten over that whole killing you thing, he might let you chat to one, if you ask really really nice." She smiled ferally, delighting in teasing him still, even after all these centuries.

"Dad's still a little upset that I tried to take over the underworld," he ignored her sarcastic 'really?' and continued. "You know if I go to dad, and mother finds out…." He let the threat linger. Their mother was Precias, goddess of wisdom, and she had a temper that matched her love for knowledge. Their parents had had a tryst around the first or fourth century (who could remember anniversaries anyway?) and the product had been Syria, their love child. A beautiful baby girl with her father's large green-black eyes and her mother's fair hair, who had men declaring love for her before she emerged from her pre-teens. Decades later, a son was born, with lavender eyes that matched neither parents' and hair the color of sand. Already in the midst of a rocky relationship based more on lust then true affection, they'd separated, leaving each other with a child to raise on their own.

Personally (although his father had sought to extinguish the life he'd gave him) Duo preferred the half he'd ended up with. Their mother was overbearing, to say the least. Ever since he'd made that one mistake and tried to steal his father's kingdom his mother had been keeping close tabs on both her children, meddling as mothers tend to do. She'd even tried pushing marriage on him a few times, time enough that Duo had learned to keep his distance, glimpsing why his sister probably had entered this rebellious stage. Still, him going to the underworld would surely catch mother-dearest's eye, and he was trying to lay low until he could find a nice way of breaking it to her that he'd married a mortal and was as they spoke on very bad terms with a certain god king's daughter. Precias cared about things like social standing and appearances more than she cared about her own children sometimes, but all goddess's favors were finicky in Duo's opinion.

-*-

"Duo Maxwell?" The name was acid on his tongue, and he let the disgust show on his facial features. Deidre smiled, assessing the general before her with a keen eye. She'd always had an interest (and a hand) in the choosing of her father's general's, but Rashid and Domtar had created this abomination themselves. An undead thing, kept bound by those dark spells the twins always coveted so closely. Immortal, but neither god nor human, she found it as revolting as fascinating.

"So you have met?" Deidre asked, a small smile playing on her lips. She tossed her crimson gold hair with a flip, crossing her legs and peering at the kneeling figure so that she might judge every facial expression. He nodded, once. "Interesting, but at this time hardly relevant, what I have in mind has nothing to do with the god of mayhem. No, I expect my generals will be ridding us of that problem shortly. You see, he's turned traitor, trying his hand against your masters," the cruel set of his jaw reassured her. Her faith in the twins wasn't such that she was eager to trust this toy of theirs.

Dorothy, beauteous and ethereal, sat in stone silence behind Deidre, taking in the conversation with mild curiosity. Her face was exposed; a rarity for the two generals, and all of the alabaster skin and true gold hair was shimmering in the dim lighting of Deidre's chambers. Her expression was polite, distant, but underneath the facade was a burning intelligence that matched only her thirst for war. She had decided, though her mistress would not be pleased to hear it, to do some poking around of her own. After all, how often did one get entrance to the twin gods of illusions palace? The sheer amount of knowledge and weaponry to be gained had her salivating. Only this bored pretense of a meeting to sit through, and her mistress would take her leave. She and Silvia had plans for Duo Maxwell, Dorothy had opted out. She knew the god of mayhem and didn't believe he'd be subdued as easily as her mistress assumed.

Silvia was still too young to know of Deidre's and Duo's past, but Dorothy collected information as avidly as armament, and she had a memory like a steel trap. It was sad to see her mistress reduced to such petty affairs, jealousy was a wicked foe. Pity, is that what she felt for the woman she would've followed into any battle merely years before? Yes, pity, for a royal goddess none the less, but pity all the same. A woman stuck in a child's body, her mistresses' desires had matured but her father kept her form stunted as that of a child. A shame, and a tragic plot, for Dorothy was sure there was no happy ending to this subterfuge. Betrayal always ended in loss.

What would the god king say upon his return? To find his only child had betrayed him? Dorothy did not trouble herself with loyalties, no; her true purpose was and had always been her own. Yet, it would be interesting to know his reaction, which might hold relevant to her plans. She reasserted her thoughts, reminding herself that nothing had been set in stone, she needed much more forethought and information before her plan would solidify. She turned her attention back to the creature in her mistress' chambers; his eyes were like carved stones of ice, the true havoc-weary eyes of any soldier.

"What would you have of me?" The formal request sounded flat, but there was a feral set to his posture that suggested his disinterest was mere ploy.

"There is a woman," Deidre informed him, she placed a Polaroid in front of the general. Dorothy inwardly smirked, she'd taken that yesterday. The girl was slight, delicate pale features with a chop of straw blonde hair. Eyes cool and clear like water, but there was shadows beneath them, and a weight to her movements as she'd bustled across the busy street. She was grieving, whether that was woman's intuition or simply a logical leap she couldn't be sure, but she'd felt a sort of kinship for the girl almost instantly. A rarity to be sure, for her respect was never instantaneous, and her liking of a person even less so, Dorothy had been unsettled at first but now she glorified in it. A mystery, she hadn't had a good mystery in centuries.

"She's hardly a threat," Deidre acknowledged at his skeptical expression, "But none-the-less I have sources that assure me she is a key part of Maxwell's plan." Deidre's smile was unnervingly close to child like glee, "Eliminate her."

"Yes, My Lady," His dark brown hair wisped into his eyes as he bowed once more. The thick armor he wore, most likely dragon skin by the way the dark scales glittered in the light, never so much as creaked as he took his stealthy leave.

"One more thing," Deidre gestured to Dorothy, and her general produced a single glittering length of silver chain. "It binds mortal's bodies and minds, a simple spell really. Place it around a limb and the mortal is forced to obey your every command. In case you find her in place where elimination would cause attention, use it. I'd like this to be as discreet as possible." She commanded, a condescending smile playing across her features and making her green-brown eyes glitter. He took the chain, doubting his need of it, but thanked her none the less.

-*-

Duo sat affixed at the small pool, his face churning between emotions as he stared into the water's depths. Prophecy was a dangerous tool, best left to the fates and those who had nothing to lose or gain by the outcome. Often times fortune telling was fickle, easily swayed by the observer's desires and fears, so often the future one saw wasn't what one was dealt. Not days before his planning had been crystal clear, its outline shining brightly in the water's depths, now it lay murky and overshadowed, true testament that he'd been discovered. At the sound of footfalls coming down the hall he quickly laid the black velvet cover across the stone pool. He tried his best to look bored and innocent, but his expression gave too much away and she saw through his pretense in a second.

"I told you not to poke around my scrying tools without permission," Hilde scolded, trying for severe but smiling despite her intentions. He tried to look ashamed, or at least properly reprimanded, but when that failed he just shrugged.

"We've been discovered," he told her matter-of-factly. Although this should worry him, Duo found himself to be self indulgent in nature, and he easily forgave himself for any lack of forethought that lead to their discovery. She looked worried, gnawing on her lower lip with one arm on her hip as she studied him with intense eyes.

"Have we?" She asked thoughtfully, "By whom?"

"Not sure, but whoever they are I think they're trying to thwart us," He informed her, still trying for nonchalance and failing miserably once again. His lavender eyes gave weight to a seriousness that was born out of too many lifetimes, a taste of his immortality seeping through what usually appeared to be a young and mischievous face. "Honestly," he admitted, running his hands across feet of gold and brown hair expertly bound in a braid, a nervous gesture that made him look adorable and endearing, "It has to be someone big, and mortals hardly ever make any significant difference in the fate of gods."

"Really?" She asked dryly. Indicating, of course, that he was making an assumption. After all, hadn't she been mortal when she'd changed both their fates? Binding them together for eternity, severing his ties with the goddess he'd been with for no less than a few decades? Sure, a decade was petty change to the immortals, but Hilde still thought of things like a human, she was one after all. Decades seemed to be an awfully long time to spend with someone you didn't love, but Duo had always brushed her worries aside. Insisting that his love for her had changed everything, that she couldn't know what it was like to spend eternity alone. She didn't, but the rebuke still chaffed.

"Rarely," he relented. "But that was something entirely different, that was….different." He reinstated lamely. Rousing himself he stood, good humor instantly returned in the mysterious ways of mood swings, and gave her a soft kiss. A kiss that let her know how much she meant to him, joking and teasing aside, it couldn't be easy to love someone centuries older than yourself, let alone fight for that love. She returned the kiss, but accused him of trying to distract her. Ruffled, he pouted until she rolled her eyes and gave him one of those smoldering kisses that left his whole body tingling.

"You're trying to diffuse a plot against your king by using a technicality of a dark magic spell to eliminate the twins' general. How, exactly, is finding one dead mortal's true love so different than finding one god's true love?" Hilde demanded. She had no time for the lines Duo and his kind liked to draw between mortals and immortals. Just because one lifetime was shorter, didn't mean it was less significant.

"Ask Syria, she was her usually charming self, something along the lines of 'the dead don't love' if I recall correctly," He grinned wickedly at her. She rolled her eyes, puffing her bangs up with one long exasperated sigh. "Which is why we're going to have to do this the long way." He admitted. She stared at him confused, her brow wrinkled and lips puckered as she tried to discern his meaning.

"Long way?" She repeated blankly. This was this first she'd heard that Duo had even been to see his sister yet, last she heard most of his family wasn't on speaking terms with each other.

"Yes," Duo donned a thin black top hat, way too retro for the current styles; it seemed to have appeared from his fingertips to slip onto his head. "A bit of deducting Watson."

"Oh, Holmes? Is that so?" She question dryly, playing along. Why he'd taken to those old dusty novels she'd had so quickly she'd never guess, but he adored Sherlock. She grimaced at his cheesy addition, his crystal scythe appearing to be nothing more than a harmless wooden cane in his hands. He couldn't be seriously considering leaving looking like that, no one would take them seriously.

"Yes, we are left with the saddest remnants of clues," He produced a list and proceeded to glance at it as if it disheartened him. "A list of girls who loved him. Horrible stuff, chasing love sick woman whose main squeeze is pushing up daisies, so we'll have to be discrete and cautious." He added, flipping her nose with the tip of his finger to emphasize.

"Duo, do you even know how to be discrete?" She asked in mock wonder. He laughed, a loud boisterous noise that echoed throughout the room in bouncing echoes. Grabbing her around the shoulders and winking mysteriously he spoke,

"I guess we shall see."

A/N: I'm not sure Duo even knows the definition of subtle LOL. Of course, as a scythe wielding god whose going to ask too many questions? I wish I had some witty commentary to leave here, everyone else who posts seems to but I find myself on a shortage so you'll have to forgive me. At the risk of sounding repetitive and droll, read and review.

Duo: I can SO be sneaky!!!

Hilde: She knows, *comforting pat*


	4. Chapter 3: A Deal with the Devil

**Amorous Mort**

BY: Demon Tsunami

A/N: In the first version of this story Heero and Relena meet instantly, but upon reflecting I think that setting up the story first gets the tone of it going so you can better understand the interactions between the couple. Also, in version one Heero was actually Relena's fiancé, this is no longer the case LOL. It was just too hard to imagine what it would be like to see someone you know that intimately so changed. Okay, enough mindless ramble, please enjoy the fiction! Oh, and reviews to writers are like water to a man dying of thirst, so PLEASE consider giving this one!

CHAPTER THREE: A Deal with the Devil

Crying, in all its absurdity, was supposed to be part of the 'healing process'. More sagely advice from her overpaid shrink. As wet hot tears fell from her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks and leaving cooling trails of wetness, she doubted the validity of that fact. Sniffling, the sound echoing in her front room as if she'd shot off a gun, she wiped one sweater covered arm across her face in attempt to stop the unwanted seepage. She looked horrid, red splotches marring her usually clear complexion, the purpled circles under her eyes puffy from where she'd rubbed them. The weather outside was gruesome as well; the spring rain had winds wailing against the questionable protection of her thin wood door with a force that rattled the aging wood. Rain smattered the earth with a ferocity that drove the mud from her lawn to bubble up, worms inching to escape the destruction across the treachery of cement and puddles. She watched, peering passed her reflection in the glass, hesitant to glance back at the collection of glossy polaroids scattered about the floor.

Pictures of a certain deceased man lay in messy piles, the sight of it enough to make her feel that unbearable clenching throughout her gut. She'd thought she could handle this task; that she'd delayed it long enough but five minutes alone with that physique in still frame and she'd started blubbering like a dolt. It ached, burned inside her, the empty pit of sorrow that chewed and chewed until she felt like she'd never be the same again. She wouldn't, not really. The reality of never seeing that face in motion again was hard to bear. Though the months should've taken away the freshness of her emotional wounds, they only seemed to worsen at each reminder of what she'd lost. Grow bigger with each day that passed with no reprieve from her endless grief.

Damn it. She wiped away the fresh onslaught of tears with something very akin to anger. This wasn't _fair_. If only she'd known, she would've… What? Declared her love? She laughed bitterly at the cruel irony of that, as if that would've helped matters. Neither rejection nor acceptance would make this bitter pill of reality easier to swallow. She turned from the fogged glass, noting the dismal surroundings with barely cognate eyes. Turning back to the array of photos, she heaved a deep soul weary sigh, dropping listlessly back onto her grey carpeting. Sitting cross legged, she went about completing the task she'd begun. Sorting the pictures by the designated categories so that the memorial service they intended to have would be able to easily find the best ones for their scheduled slide show.

The problem was that ninety percent of what she had showed him staring intensely with a small scowl marring his features. He'd hated having pictures taken, vehemently protested it as a matter-of-fact. Hence why most of the shots were candid, ones she'd taken when she knew he might be distracted enough to allow it. The end result being she had hardly one decent photograph to add to the presentation, never mind that even scowling he looked immensely handsome, these were supposed to be memories of happy times. Trouble was, as much as she cared about him he'd been so introverted not even she could be positive if he was truly happy. What a depressing thought. She caressed one glossy surface, tracing the clean line of his jaw, stopping at the green tank top he'd insisted wearing through most of his teens. He didn't look too disturbed in this one, and it proved to be decent shot of him in spandex. She smiled softly at the remembrance of how well they emphasized his toned butt.

As she tossed it into the 'maybe' pile her front door swung open with a crash that made her jump, eliciting one of those basely female noises of distress. Calming herself, one hand still clutched for dear life against her thumping chest, she stared intently into the empty entrance. Silly ninny, she reprimanded herself, it's that darn wind finally winning against cheap wood. The force of the storm must've caused it to crash open, and she stared in disgust at the fastly accumulating rain beginning to puddle in her tiled entry way. No hope for it, she'd have to brave the chilly wind now whipping through her front room, step in all that cold rain water, and struggle against nature to get that door to shut and stay shut. She stood to do so, cursing storms and her rotten luck.

When she grasped her brass door handle, she was shocked to find it simply slipped out of the hole, falling in metallic pieces into the puddle on her floor. She bent to retrieve them, wondering at the shoddiness of current day mechanisms when suddenly she felt a tight grip on her short hair, near the base of her skull. That hand clenched harshly, driving her backwards and causing her to slip clumsily into the pool of water at her feet. Bent as she was, she couldn't see her attacker, but survival instincts kicked in sending an electrifying jolt of adrenaline through her veins. She gripped the hand in her hair trying to wrench or pry free the fingers that seemed to be vice like in their strength. Suddenly, as if on some cue hidden in the basics of her DNA, she saw those Prussian eyes, the firm tight line of the mouth as he explained how to negate a frontal attack. She smiled grimly, her hand shooting up, palm flat and fingers arched down as it smashed upwards into what she hoped was a jaw.

Her knees were in the water, her head still held so that she faced the floor and it appeared her attack had not had the stunning effect she was promised. She trashed wildly for a moment, trying to free her hair from the constraining grip, and that's when she saw the flat piece of metal from her door handle, diamond shaped to match her small entry way window. Thanking fate she gripped the flat copper in her fingers and slammed it into her attacker's upper thigh, satisfied as she heard a grunt of pain and her hair was released. Working on more base reaction then forethought she slammed her body weight into the wounded legs, causing her attacker to come crashing into the puddle with her. She scuttled backwards, her breath coming in harsh gasping pants as she tried to clear the distance between herself and the oncoming threat. She heard him groan from where he lay, and she prayed with every fiber in her being that he'd hit his head and was now completely incapacitated.

Then his shoulders flipped over, and he stood in one lithe graceful motion that was more reminiscent of a feline righting itself then a human. She froze; entranced by the deep blue of his eyes, her heat thudding painfully like it might break itself to pieces at the sight of his lean figure in her doorway. It wasn't possible, was her first thought, her second was so much gut reaction that she never considered censoring it. She flung herself around him, inhaling the smell of water and leather like it was the sweetest scent she'd ever smelled.

"Heero, oh, Heero," If it wasn't for the watery sound of her own voice she might not have realized she was crying. She gripped him in a death grip, her fingers locking. She was afraid if she let go he'd disappear. She felt his hand come up into her hair, and she didn't budge, didn't even know to struggle until she felt his fingers finding the sweet spot, the pressure point that rendered her unconscious, leaving her limp form to slide towards the wet tile.

He stared down at the knocked out woman for a moment, her outburst had startled him into simply incapacitating her. At first he'd thought she was trying to rush him again, but quickly dismissed that as she started sobbing into him, her weak looking limbs catching him in a vice like grip. He shook his head, letting rain droplet fling every which way in attempt to clear the hair from his eyes. He knelt, staring at the pale face of the strange girl, her eyes had deep circles in them more pronounced by her complexion. He touched the shortness of her blonde hair, stealing his hand back as a tingle rushed up his arm. Had he seen her somewhere before? No, that was impossible, last time he'd been alive predated her by at least ten decades.

He pulled the small fire arm from his waist band, its sleek black metal surface felt warm and familiar in his hand. He placed the tip at her temple, backing up a bit to preempt the splatter he'd seen these weapons make on a firing range not even half a day ago.

"WHOA! Stop!" Duo barely dodged the oncoming fire, watching with wide amethyst eyes as the bullet turn a piece of door frame into splinter. That had been close. Swearing, he flipped his cane upwards, gesturing for Hilde to remain where she was. He attempted to reenter the doorway, and skidded all the way across once again barely dodging a barrage of bullets aimed at various vital points. He might be immortal, but nobody likes to be shot.

"Merde," Duo continued with a few less eloquent terms. "Calm the hell down trigger happy!" He shouted into the dimness of the white suburb house. He turned to Hilde, who was watching the open door frame with narrowed eyes. "Baby? A little help, please." She nodded, tossing her wig of brown hair down onto the soggy pavement, retribution glinting in her eyes.

"Nobody. Shoots. My. Boyfriend. But. Me." Each word was reiterated with a flash of witch light, her eyes brimming with the inner energy. She used her talents rarely, as draining as they were, but she couldn't just watch an innocent woman murdered in her own home. Besides, seeing the gun fire aimed at Duo had sparked some innate protective urge inside of her, raising anger inside of her with a swift force. She aimed to incapacitate, not kill, although with the witch fire burning inside her it was harder to control the urge.

Blasts of white shimmering light descended through the open entrance, and he rolled with a swiftness born out of decades of war and instinct. He grabbed one damp jean leg of the woman he was trying to dispose of, carelessly knocking her head as he dragged her with him into the fortifications of her front room. He stayed low, avoiding the large windows, hoping the witch would tire herself out before trying to advance. Inadvertently his eyes were drawn to what was making his progress slicker, the piles of glossy photographs much akin to the one he'd been handed by Deirdre. Technology was much changed since last he'd been here, and it was with a distant sort of curiosity that he stared at an exact likeness of himself.

He frowned, shifting the pile, and saw more of these still frames. Either himself, or a very near resemblance stood in front of a garage, he could even see the outline of a gun in the denim pants. He flipped through a few more, and saw the blonde woman now laying face down on the carpet, but in this picture her face was fuller, her eyes sparkling blue as she stared at his likeness not yards away from her in this photo. It was obvious now why she'd flung herself at him, the look on her face in this photo was enough. Whoever this man was, she'd obviously loved him.

Glancing at her, he made his decision, cursing himself for not thinking of it earlier. Another witch blast hurtled through the window pane, coming inches from his raised head. He ducked, army crawling towards his captive with ease, flipping her so that she faced upwards. Amazed she'd remained knocked out, he pulled the small silver chain he'd received earlier out, looping it once around her thin neck and making sure it was tight before shaking her awake. She blinked groggily, her eyes blurred for a moment with sleep and disorientation at waking up not in her bed but on a floor. Then she caught sight of those sharp blue eyes pinning her with an intensity that left her tingling with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Stand up," He ordered, and although she hardly felt well enough to her body jerked upwards immediately. His grasp was harsh, fingers digging into sides with a force that made her gasp, and for the first time she noticed the glittering chain trailing from her neck to his hand. This was very bad. Either she'd completely lost her mind or she was in deep trouble. She watched with abject horror as a brilliant white light propelled from the outside crashing through one of her windows. Resigned, she realized she must've finally broken down over stress and grief, losing the last bit of sanity keeping her from slipping into a delusional state.

"Stop!" She heard the male cry from outside, "He's using her as a shield!" She felt the way her body was pressed against his, how she stood protecting him from the strange blasts that kept coming, leaving her ears ringing.

"Wh-what?" Her brain tried to make sense of this confusing scene.

"Don't move," He whispered gutturally into her ear, she heard the safety of a gun click and she tried to concentrate on breathing. Five deep relaxing breaths later she opened her eyes and she was still be held hostage by a dead man as two strangers stood in the pouring rain outside. Her only luck was that the firing had stopped shortly after the man's cry.

"Bastard!" It was an animalistic cry of rage from outside. She watched with uncomprehending eyes as the female dropped to her knees, the fury of her expression readable even from such a distance. She tried to glance up, to see the man behind her, her mind was tripping over itself trying to draw some form of logic from this, but his grip was such that her movement was very limited.

"Hilde, baby, breath," Duo instructed, familiar enough with the signs of her grounding the power out of her body. She was always emotionally high strung when she used her gifts, the magic surging with an intensity that magnified everything, even feelings.

"Duo," Her jewel eyes bore into him, conveying the intensity of her dissipating rage and growing concern. "I know you can do it, he's going to kill her if we don't." Her eyes pleaded. He gave her a candid smile, carefully concealing his doubt behind the easy mask.

"Don't worry babe, I'm taking care of it," He pulled her jacket around her tighter, aware of the chill in the summer rain. He grimaced as he turned, facing the abomination the twin gods of illusion only ever referred to as General. Black magic, as a god Duo could taste it on the air, and he regarded the twin's most powerful weapon with a keen interest. The girl in front of him didn't struggle, but he should've been prepared for as much, after all the man holding her hostage was the exact likeness of the man she'd loved. Last on the list, Relena Dorlain seemed to be the one they were looking for, and Duo wasn't about to lose it all now before the battle had truly had a chance to begin. His lavender eyes narrowed, and he went against his better instinct approaching the window with a resigned sort of intent. He hated being shot, damnit.

Relena screamed as a bullet pierced the man advancing towards her window. He jerked, the force of the bullet pulling his left side back with a deafening bang from the gun in Heero's outstretched hand. The fingers at her side dug harder, causing her to gasp and pause mid-scream. The man still advanced, his expression grim and his pace quicker after being shot instead of slower.

"I really hate these things," He commented, appearing far too quickly in front of them, his hand already enclosed over the weapon. His purple eyes glimmered with distaste, and he tossed the gun away as if it were an unwanted toy. "I hate to butt in, really I do, but unfortunately I can't let you kill her." Duo grinned at the small frightened girl, winking one oddly colored eye with a soft smile.

"Unfortunately, Maxwell, I have never answered to the god of mayhem," He pulled on the chain in his other hand, eliciting a small choked cry from the woman he held. "And despite your intentions, I will be completing my mission." Duo's eyes narrowed on the chain, his expression darkening as realization hit.

"You may not be taking orders from me, but it seems you have another master," Duo knew that chain, he'd been forced into it once himself. If she was involved, it was no small wonder his plans had begun to go astray.

"Heero?" Her voice was small, blue eyes wide with fear and confusion. The voice that answered sounded like Heero, but the words were far from what she would expect from the man she knew.

"So I assume this human is useful to you then?" He took her jaw in his hands, and although she was of mind to struggle it seemed she was paralyzed with fear. Duo nodded, releasing his scythe from the ordinary appearance that concealed it. The ostentatious gold handle and glittering crystal of the immortal weapon made it look more decoration then armory, but like all the immortal weapons its appearance was deceiving. Heero stepped back, assessing the situation with a rapidly working intellect, the scythe in the god of mayhems hands being one of the few weapons that would actually kill him.

"Of upmost importance," Duo agreed, swinging the blade lazily. "So you can either insist on this showdown, or we can try and reach a compromise."

"Compromise?"

"Your word you won't kill her, and I'll let you leave," Duo grinned.

"Deal." Heero knew once he had her inside the palace of illusion, there would be no need for him to do the deed himself. To the woman in his arms, he whispered only one command, "Sleep."

-*-

A/N: How'd I do? This all came out at once, on Halloween none-the-less! Listening to Korn is definitely inspirational! Hope you're as stoked for Chapter Four as me! R&R, you know the standard plea.


	5. Chapter 4: The Lion's Den

**Amorous Mort**

**BY: Demon Tsunami**

**A/N:** So I usually don't write this fast but we just received a 12% decrease in salary at my job, so I figure I'll dedicate 12% of my work time to writing. Ne, I know that's kind of bogus but I'm pretty sure this company is going down the proverbial drain…Enough about me, you came to read the story, right?

Duo: No, everybody loves listening to you whine.

Tsunami: Sarcasm not appreciated! On with the show….

**CHAPTER FOUR:** The Lion's Den

Sometimes, when she slept, she dreamt of him. His fierce good looks enthralling her as she tried to follow his simple lectures. Harder, faster, grip it like this, no, yes… She could even smell the gym, the lingering scent of rubber and sweat mixed in with her own perfume and perspiration. She knew this couldn't be his only job, his eyes were too intensely focused, his motions fluid with an easy grace that put her meager attempts to shame. You could almost see the danger radiating from him, like an erotic temptation, voicing that you could look but not touch. She'd seen his gun even, though she knew he didn't have it on him during practice, and what self defense instructor needs a firearm? There was more to this enigma of a man then met the eye, of that she was certain.

He took her wrist gently, showing her the follow through she never managed to master. She smiled up at him shyly, her heart thudding almost painfully at the touch. They'd been practicing together for years, and while she improved she had to admit her progress might be a bit slow due to the many distractions. Like contemplating what a man like this, with so much power and control, might feel like wrestling in a bed instead of a brilliant blue floor mat. She reached out, trying to touch his brown hair, always un kept it often fell into those startling blue eyes. It might've been the surrealism of that in what otherwise appeared to be more memory then dream (she never would've had the guts to touch him like that in reality) that awoke her suddenly, but she couldn't be sure.

It smelled like burning candles, the sweet smoky flavor hitting her before she opened her eyes, she groaned wanting to roll over and sleep for at least another hour. Whatever she'd been doing the day before had exhausted her, and she felt sleep teasing at the corners of her mind, beckoning her back into its depths. She wanted to go back to that dream, smiling as she re pictured his face behind closed eyelids. It was the unfamiliarity of the silk sheets beneath her that caused her eyes to fly open, widened in shock. She gasped; with the realization of the foreign bed she was laying in brought back her startling recollections of what seemed half dream and half reality. Heero, she swallowed the misery biting her at the unfairness of such a taunting impossibility; she'd thought she'd seen Heero come back.

She glanced about the room, sitting up and recognizing only the tank top and faded blue jeans she wore. The room was immense, lit only by the red candles burning on every available shelf, and where there wasn't a candle there were weapons glinting dangerously in the soft glow. The bed she lay in was huge, four poster with inky black silk sheets drowning her small limbs. In wonderment, she took in the ornate cherry wood furniture, and ominous looking devices hung on small hooks on every wall. This did not look like a good place to wake up. She shivered, remembering the coldness in the eyes of someone she was beginning to doubt was actually Heero. She may not be able to say with any certainty that the Heero she knew was the only side of the man, but she did know he'd never hurt her.

The large door to her right creaked, the wood groaning as it was shoved open, revealing the aforementioned subject of her distress. He walked in casually, his lean upper body still running with rivulets of water that dropped from his long chocolate locks. Her breath caught, hitching in her chest as a hundred fifty plus pounds of dripping wet muscle stalked toward her. She back peddled in the slippery sheets, fumbling a bit as he advanced, a dark look in his eyes. She felt distinctly what it was like to be prey, and the predator facing her was equally as fearsome as he was intriguing. It wasn't until she felt the tug around her jugular that she realized the chain was still around her neck, secured behind her to one of the thick cherry wood posts.

"What do you want?" Her voice was soft, husky with sleep. His eyes narrowed, tracing her face.

"Who is this?" He demanded, placing one of her own photos in front of her. The question shocked her; she stared at the candid shot, the last in her stack of maybes. She studied him, marking the tilt of his dark sapphire eyes, the way his hair fell in messy wet chunks about a toned face, and for a moment she was at loss for words. The match was incredible, the man standing before her looked identical to the one in the photo, even the same small frown at the corner of his mouth.

"You're not Heero, are you?" There was grief in that statement, although she tried to hide it. He said nothing, and his silence alone forced her to continue. "He's dead, you know," she traced the profile in the picture, "hunting accident. They said he might have made it…" she'd never shared the details with anyone, it made it feel so much more final. "If they'd found him in time. He was my best friend," she confessed, "He was helping me hide."

"Hide?" He enquired, a single brow raised. She nodded, mute now that she'd revealed so much to a perfect stranger. A perfectly hostile stranger, who looked exactly like the man she'd fallen in love with. His finger raised her chin, forcing her eyes to meet that piercing glare. The question lingered between them.

"My ex-fiancé," there was a bitterness to her tone that time hadn't cured her of. "He was a powerful man, someone you don't cross." She peered at him, trying to see if this forced any reaction. A blank profile stared back at her. "He tried to find me, even after witness protection. Heero taught me self defense." She didn't mention the one time her ex had found her, the only time she'd ever seen Heero's gun. He nodded, as if this explained everything. She couldn't begin to understand how it could; she was so filled with conflicting emotions at the moment she might burst.

"He was your lover." It was a statement, not a question. She blushed, lowering her eyes against the many not so demure thoughts running through her head. Just as she was about to protest a hand caressed her thigh, and she moved backwards, eyes narrowed with her own suspicions.

"Who ARE you?" She demanded. He smirked, not answering as he settled next to her on the bed his eyes surveying her with mockery.

"You wouldn't believe me," He told her simply, his hand reached out touching the chain at her neck.

"Don't."

"Stop me," He challenged, bending her backwards with the silver length and claiming her mouth. His mouth was fierce against hers, punishing as it sealed over her lips with obvious practice and intent. She tried to gently push at his chest, which was now hovering inches above her own, knowing this was wrong. She should not let this strange man kiss her; however he appeared, it was more than obvious she'd been mistaken in believing this was Heero. She exerted more pressure, and in response his tongue ran through her lips, tasting only her clenched teeth.

"Get off," She demanded, she knew she was a bit breathless but she hadn't meant it to come out so fluttery. He grinned, eyes glinting in the rooms flickering candle light.

"How many reasons do you think there are for tying a helpless woman to your bed?" He asked, watching the flittering emotions skitter across her face. Denial, horror, anger, fear… "Would you prefer I kill you instead?" He asked matter-of-factly. As his toy here, he could easily explain why he hadn't killed her if anyone asked, without any mention of Duo's interference, but if she preferred he knew plenty of the guard would love to put an end to something as weak and pretty as she was. He ran a light hand over her arm, wondering at the tingling sensation that shot up his fingertips. It wasn't unpleasant.

"I-I…Mmmph," His hand closed over her mouth, his posture changing instantly from prowess to stiff alertness. She glared at him, pale eyes glittering with anger. A soft knock resounded on the door, and he glared back in warning. Very few people could instill fear with just a look, but the one he gave her sent chills down her spine.

"General?" A feminine voice enquired, "May I come in?"

"Enter." He grunted, his hand still wrapped around her mouth, and he splayed next to her propping his head up on his other strong hand. Relena couldn't see the person who entered, but she heard the gentle click of heels, the swish of clothing in the otherwise dead silent room.

"I didn't realize you were busy," The voice was wryly amused.

"I didn't realize they informed you which room was mine."

"Oh, they didn't," She assured him, "But yours is the only door with no guards on it." She laughed, amused at something Relena couldn't identify. Of course, nothing was funny when you were pinned by a stranger threatening you life and your virginity, and not necessarily in that order. "I have to know, who is that? Hello?" A face came into view, long blonde hair, sharp eyes, and a figure almost completely eclipsed in glittering white fabric. "Oh you naughty boy." She laughed. "What will the twins think?"

"They didn't order me to kill her," He pointed out.

"And you only obey your masters then?" She asked, eyes sparkling. She reached out and then stopped herself, her eyes locked with the general's. "Possessive?" She asked. The hand left Relena's mouth and she began to sit up, wary of the two other people in the room. She felt like a science experiment being observed, both sets of eyes trained on her every movement. "Pretty," The woman complimented, her face was suddenly open and friendly. "I'm Dorothy, Grand General, and you might be…?"

"Relena Dorlain," She took the offered hand unsurely, letting the older woman shake it firmly. Dorothy beamed at her, obviously pleased.

"My pleasure," Dorothy assured her.

"Now that you've completely intruded, how can I help you?" He demanded, eyebrows furrowing at the blatant female bonding. He didn't like Deirdre's general in his chambers, and he disliked her discovering Relena even more so.

"Oh, don't be like that General," She rebuffed politely, "I'm an excellent secret keeper." Her eyes glanced meaningfully towards the girl in his bed. "Besides, I've save you the trouble of an interesting explanation by coming on my mistress' behalf, the least you could do is show some gratitude."

"I'm being summoned?" He demanded. Dorothy's grin turned wry, he had such a way with words this one.

"Yes, sorry to interrupt," She winked at Relena in feminine understanding. Relena shook her head, the last thing this strange woman should be doing is apologizing from interrupting whatever had been about to happen. She let the relief settle over her at the delay, if not complete stopping of events.

"I'll bring him back in one piece," She promised, grasping him by the arm and drawing him from the bed. Relena didn't know what to say, so she simply nodded. He turned, shrugging free the other woman's grip to glare at her over his shoulder.

"Stay put." He ordered, the door slamming behind the retreating pair. Relena sighed, deep and heavy, falling back into the bed with a firm plop one arm slung across her eyes. This was not good. No, it was worse than not good, she trembled as she remembered being pressed down, his guttural threat ringing in her ears. It was enough to give her the shivers, the thought of him carrying out what he'd started. Her worst fear? She might not put up as much resistance as she should….

-*-

"You know, I do believe that girl is very ill-equipped to deal with you," She informed him with a sly smirk. "A human girl…. Are you sure you even know what you're doing?" She mused. This elicited no response from her stoic companion. Unfaltering, she pursued the topic with a wry sort of chagrin that was sure to chafe the obviously stuffy general. She hadn't imagined that someone who was kept alive by black magic would be so stiff, but then again she hadn't thought she'd find that girl alive in his bedroom either. He was proving to be unnervingly unpredictable.

"Hn…" He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, his expression a blank mask.

"Well fine, if you don't want to discuss that matter," She turned, pinning him with the full intent of her stare. "What do you think of Deidre's newest scheme?"

"I don't see why you think I would discuss such things with you," He told her coldly, his eyes almost appearing to freeze with the ice in his tone. She shrugged, trying to appear indifferent.

"Well then, I'll make you suffer through one last question," Dorothy smirked, her intentions would be see-through after this statement but she had an intuitive feeling that revealing herself to him would hinder little. "Once you're done with the girl, can I have her?"

A/N: Hmmm… I think I like how it's going. This chapter's a bit short, but I've actually got 90% of the next one down. After revisions and such it shouldn't be too long. I don't believe in making people wait I guess. Oh, and I have no life LOL but that's beside the point.


	6. Chapter 5: The Way to a Man's Heart

**Amorous Mort**

**By: Demon Tsunami**

A/N: First and foremost, due thanks are in order to lilac310 and penguinator27, for your encouragement and reviews! THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH. Without your feedback I probably would've given up on this story as no good, seeing as I am my harshest critic. For those of you who have read, and not reviewed, thank you too, you nameless viewers, for giving this fiction a chance. I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it as much as I enjoy writing it!! And without any further ado, I bring you chapter five, in which we get to see a little more of Heero's teasing evilness, and learn a bit more about the twins, who I confess, might be my favorite original characters despite the fact they are the villains.

**CHAPTER FIVE: The Way to a Man's Heart**

Relena's breath was coming in short little pants; the force of it sucking into her lungs was almost painful with the intense need for oxygen. Like someone had pressed burning iron to her chest and left it there for her to try and breathe through the endless pressure and pain. Futile endeavors seemed to be her forte suddenly, and the exertion had beads of hot sweat dripping into her eyes, which she wiped away with only a glint left of her desperate determination. She'd been at it for what seemed like hours, but had probably been only one at the most. She was tired, her throat burned like someone had dropped a match down it and lit it from the inside out, and her legs had that swollen feeling that promised to turn into a full out ache before the end of the day. She groaned, giving into one of her moments of despair and clenching her nails against her eyes. She breathed deeply, feeling the sweet air rush in and out, in and out. Finally her talon grip loosened, and she sat back, eyeing the wall in front of her with thinly stretched optimism.

Ten short feet. Unfortunately the chain around her neck was only lengthened to the eight feet that spanned the bed, these were all guesstimates being as she had no real measuring tools, but she felt confident that the two feet need could be gained much easier if the silver chain around her neck didn't begin choking her of all oxygen each time she tried to move from the bed itself. Stay put, he'd said. It'd taken her a bit to determine why his orders seemed to draw some reflexive obedience from her, from the way he'd ordered her to stand in her house to the way one word had commanded her back to sleep. With hatred, she glared at the thin silver length holding her captive, she was betting that the two were linked, though the how's and why's eluded her completely, the fact remained the same. She'd been ordered to stay put. The chain was making sure she stayed put. She'd been fighting with it for the past sixty minutes to no avail.

Okay, she coached herself, here goes. She shifted in the silken sheets, nearing the edge of the bed and eyeing the weaponry on the wall with a fierce predatory gaze. Mine. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, and you can't succeed if you don't try. The practically meaningless self-motivation mantras took a hold of her mind as she visualized herself with one of those sharp looking pieces in her hand. She had perfected the movement that gained her momentum she needed as she left the bed. Her heels dug into slippery sheets and lifted her body weight in a flying leap from bed spread to floor. Instantly strangled, the weight of the chain increased twelve-fold as soon as her feet hit air and began exerting a telling pull backwards.

She tried to ignore her brain's screaming warnings of being suffocated and lunged another step forward. Then another; and a third in a quick succession, followed by a mad flailing grab for the wall. With a barely discernable cry of defeat she was flung backwards by no means of her own doing and found herself breathing deeply, disorientated and back on the bed where she'd started. She muffle-screamed her frustration into the sheets, pounding the mattress for a moment and giving into a tantrum of disappointment that she hadn't done since she was about five years old.

"I thought I told you to stay put," The voice was such that it sent a spill of shivers down her spine. Of course he was back, just in time to watch her blindly humiliate herself in her own little pity party. She glared when she lifted her head, eyeing the duplicate of her former love with something akin to hatred. He couldn't keep her here like this, chained like a dog to his bed with no explanations, and truly expect obedience, could he? The look of icy disapproval he shot her was answer enough, yes, he expected obedience.

"I wonder," She watched his fluid process with suspicion and slight fear, "What would you have done with one of these had you been successful?" He easily grabbed a lethal looking blade from the wall, its end an ornate black handle that he expertly maneuvered in skilled fingers. At first she was too shocked at how easily he'd read her intentions to grasp what he was asking, and realization only increased the quickening tempo of her heart. He made a short slicing motion with the blade, it was meant to intimidate her, and she hated to admit it but it worked.

"Escape," Perhaps the bluntness of her honesty surprised him, because he stopped the blade mid-spin.

"Hn," He surveyed the blade and gave her a measuring gaze. "Show me." Her jaw dropped, probably hitting the ground, as he offered the blade's handle to her. Trap! Her mind warned. Definite trap. She continued to eye the offered weapon and another thought replaced that one, it was decidedly darker and more persuasive, beckoning her to use it and gain her freedom. She'd never handled a weapon. Everything Heero had taught her was self defense, honestly, she abhorred violence in any form. Everyone argued self preservation took hold and there was little choice in the matter, but she'd often prided herself with escaping lethal situations without causing other's harm. She'd done so when escaping her ex.

Her fingers took the handle of the blade even as she warred with her own inner inhibitions. She didn't want to hurt anyone, but she knew she couldn't remain here. Not with him. She stared into those deep blue eyes, and saw in her mind's eye only the person she'd lost. What would she do if he continued with his threats from earlier and she never even tried escape? If he followed through…Images, not all of them entirely unpleasant swarmed her mind's eye. Shaking her head, she rid herself of her imagination's horrific musings. If she allowed him to keep her here, she'd regret it. She just wondered if she'd regret hurting him more. He looked just like Heero, even that cocky dead pan glare he gave her reminded her of him. The blade was heavy in her hands, having more weight than his effortless twirls had suggested.

"Well?" He demanded. She prayed to any deity that would listen, hoping for hope's sake that this didn't end as badly as she could picture it. Instead of responding she lunged, blade tip out, aiming for his shoulder and then chickening out and closing her eyes last minute. Without any hesitance he took her moment of blindness to his advantage and when she reopened her eyes, it was with a gagging horror that she saw the blade protruding from what looked to very much be his heart. Blood, too much blood, gushed from the wound she'd inflicted.

"Oh my God…" Her choked whisper drew those sapphire eyes to her with an unnerving intensity. Despite the blade in his chest he seemed perfectly okay, if not horribly angry.

"And after stabbing me…" His voice was harsh and she instinctively scooted backwards into his bed as he approached. Her eyes were wide and panic stricken, eyeing the unstaunched blood flow with slowly accumulating nausea. "You were planning to do what?"

"I-I-…" She let out a little girly scream of shock as his hand locked on her forearm. When he made no further movements she steadied herself well enough to respond. "I was going to leave." Her voice was ripe with petulant defiance.

"Oh?" His other arm snatched the chain at her neck. "Were you?" She swallowed hard, noting the way the handle brushed her arm as he turned, was he just going to sit there with a blade sticking out of him? Her eyes were forced back to meet the devastating depths of his hardened blue stare, she felt her body tense instinctively with the desire to fight or flee. Heero had taught her the basic instincts, showed her how to use them to her advantage. "Suppose you managed to bring me down," He traced the outline of her jaw, sending a slight tingling sensation across her skin. "What of the guards in the palace?" He watched her expression intently, his own facial features unreadable in the flickering candle light.

"Dorothy said there were no guards on your door," She pointed out, faltering for logical thought as his finger etched down her jawbone and down the vein of her neck. He simply looked at her as if she'd missed some critical point; it looked like the way Heero used to whenever she didn't comprehend the defense technique he was trying to have her perfect. Heero had been a merciless teacher, this man in front of her simply seemed merciless, period.

"When I'm here, of course there are no guards," He pointed out. She grabbed his wrist as his finger dipped daringly close to her chest. He glared at the hand on his arm until she lost the nerve and released it; she'd never known someone who could be so non-verbally hostile before.

"So there are guards when you leave," She surmised.

"Hn," It was the only noise he made, a short grunt of pain, as he freed the blade from the now dripping wound. She gritted her teeth, trying to fight the rising bile at the severity of the injury she'd inflicted. It looked horrible, and the amount of blood…. Wasn't that too much blood? She asked herself queasily. He stared at the now red stained metal, wiping it on a cloth he had placed on one of the many ornate cherry wood hutches around the room and then replacing the weapon onto the wall.

"You wouldn't have made it one foot outside of the door," He told her matter-of-factly. She bit her lip, wanting to mention that she'd been told more times then she could count that the situation she was in was not one she could escape from. Her ex had been most adamant, and for a while he'd been right. Still, if experience had taught her anything, it was that nobody knew what she was capable of but herself.

"I see that look in your eyes," He warned, "Make no mistake, no one else will hesitate to kill you."

"Like you did?" She was wondering about that. The strange conversation between him and that woman Dorothy had not gone unnoted. She had hardly missed his blasé 'they didn't order me to kill her.' So who was 'they' and if 'they' hadn't, who had? And why? She looked at him and realized something else; she'd provoked him with her last question. Or maybe being stabbed made him cranky.

"I haven't killed you, yet," He amended darkly, stalking from where he stood at the wall to another dresser. There, he removed a dark glass bottle and took a drink, she was guessing it was liquor but she couldn't identify the kind by the bottle alone. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he drank, noting the way the candle light flickered ominously across the black strange armor he was now wearing. He looked like one of those dark angel figures from a movie or a book, his blue eyes glinting as shadow and flame illuminated the fine lines of muscle and fantasy style armament he wore. She hadn't seen anything like that outside of video games and TV. She still half expected to wake up in her bed any moment saying to herself 'what an odd dream….'

"Are you all right?" She hadn't wanted to ask, she should be thinking of this man as her enemy. So why did she care that the pain was probably intense? That the blood flow seemed to have slowed but not stopped? She stared into those fathomless eyes, noting the signs of strain only at the corners of his mouth, and wondered why she bothered at all.

"It'll heal," He replied, downing another swig of whatever was in the glass bottle and resting against the dresser with his hip and beginning to unstrap the armor he wore. When he reached the shoulder straps he began wincing, fighting the leather with jerky controlled motions.

"Here, I can help," Relena felt stupid being forced to remain where she was, but she wasn't about to strangle herself trying to help him. She reached out one arm in demand. He raised an eyebrow at her, and then continued, ignoring her completely. He fumbled, she supposed the inner strap was slick because he was losing his grip, his jaw clicked every time he tried it again and she guessed that was all the signs of pain he'd show. "I really can help," She muttered defensively.

"Why would you?" She didn't realize he walked towards her until he raised her chin forcing her to meet his eyes, his expression fierce. Damn, she hated how unnerved he made her, his dead silent approach made her flinch unexpectedly when he touched her. She shrugged, looking away from the intensity in his gaze. She felt guilty for stabbing him, but she didn't want to admit it out loud. Sure that she would feel that innate sense of guilt no matter whom she'd harmed, she just wasn't a violent person.

"Why did you let me stab you?" She countered. What sort of person was he? Who just let someone stab them?

"To demonstrate a point," He told her roughly, "Even if you'd reached the wall you'd never have released that chain, and if you'd gotten that far," he looked more menacing if possible, "you wouldn't have made it passed me." He finally freed the last strap letting the heavy dragon scale armor slide to the floor, "Next time, it won't be me that gets hurt demonstrating, understand?" She nodded mutely.

She simply watched him in silence, unsure what to say or do. Under his armor he wore a black shirt, in a style she'd never seen before with the sharp cut down the chest of it; the strings meant to hold it close laying loosely down the thin black material. She supposed it wasn't much stranger then Heero's affinity for tank tops and spandex. The blade had sliced the shirt, leaving a hole and blood crusting to it; he tore it off as well letting it drop to the ground with little notice. She stared at his bare chest, the tear in it didn't seem so large as much as deep, the red stain very noticeable against the bronzed skin. She raised her gaze to catch him staring at her intently.

"What now?" She asked, half afraid.

"Now, I sleep," He told her, eyes narrowing slightly. He moved to the bed easily, laying down where she'd sat as she backed up trying to make space for him. She stared at his closed eyes with confusion, so he wasn't going to…

"Come here," he ordered abruptly, eyes still shut. She tried to fight it, but of her own accord she moved so close that they almost touched. He reached out one arm and pulled her towards his uninjured side. "I don't want you causing trouble," he pressed her down next to him, his eyes still closed.

"How are you doing that?" She demanded. He opened one eye, staring at her for a moment and then reshutting it.

"Go to sleep," He ordered. She'd practically knew it was coming, but still, as she slipped into unconsciousness she managed to mutter,

"But I just woke up…" She thought she felt someone caressing her hair as she fell asleep, but it could've also been the dream she was slipping into.

-*-

"Have you seen her?" Rashid enquired dryly. In their private chambers, the twins were more at ease, though one could hardly assume they were ever off guard. Even when it was just the two of them, the brothers held no reservations about their own selfish desires of intrigue and betrayal. Though they hardly disagreed, being of more likeness then just their shared appearance, neither possessed the capacity for trust or affection, their alliances to each other were born out of centuries of common goals and interests, not sibling love. For they both believed that emotion to be little more than misconception and weakness.

"In person, no." Domtar was splayed across a plush pure white love seat, his golden limbs glittering in the crystal illumination that seemed to shine without source in the adjacent chambers. The gold torque circling his neck and right forearm flashed a beam of reflective glow as he righted himself.

"Ah," Rashid toned, picturing the blonde mortal in his mind's eye, tracing the profile with malicious intent. "He enjoys her, our little toy, perhaps a bit much for my liking, though I am pleased he has found something that amuses him."

"Careful brother, we must not dismiss this matter so lightly, Deidre will be greatly displeased with this development," Domtar cautioned, always the more the cautionary of the two. He glanced at where his twin stood from the corner of his eye, noting the affronted stiffness of his shoulder's at the rebuke.

"I am always careful, _brother_," Rashid sneered, for a moment his angelic pretense was abandoned, and there was a glimpse of true evil in those obsidian eyes. "I just don't see the point of wasting such an unusual specimen, though it has been more than a few decades since we've tasted mortal flesh." Rashid licked his perfect lips, relishing the sadistic images of times past in his mind's eye.

"Unusual? Do you know something I do not, dear brother?" The endearment was added in a coyly taunting tone. As far as Domtar was concerned the woman was of little interest. His twin smiled secretively, eyeing the other from the corner of his vision sardonically.

"Oh," Rashid pretending surprise, "Had I forgotten to mention? I overheard Dorothy's interest in our unexpected guest, and her eye is not caught easily nor frivolously." This did catch the other's attention, a speculative expression stealing across his golden features.

"You've done this on purpose," His brother accused, not unkindly, "You know how I hate to be left out," he pouted, "You weren't going to keep her to yourself?"

"Of course not," dismissing the accusation with a wave of his hand, "I was thinking she might be bored, all cooped up in that dreadful little room. A creature such as this should be brought out for closer inspection, I think. Dressed up like a little doll, and allowed to mingle, she'll create such a commotion our little pet's toy. I'm salivating just thinking of it."

"You mean the ball." It wasn't a question. "That's a lot of eggs in one basket." Domtar pointed out.

"Pieces on the chess board," He corrected, "I do believe this will bring about our so sought after checkmate, if we play them correctly of course. Firstly, I don't believe I like the idea of our General enjoying something we have yet to taste. Loyalty dictates he should've brought her to us first in any case."

"And if we leave the little butterflies wings broken, making her useless to our so favored toy?"

"Then it will be his fault for his careless and quite selfish desires. Besides, our first meeting should only be a short game, if we can restrain ourselves." Rashid added the last with a bemused sort of malice.

"It is not I, brother dear, who has trouble with restraint." Domtar swirled a glass of white wine in his fingers, sipping the beverage with little interest.

They were quite caught up in their own plotting, excitement at the fruitation of their plans almost a living entity in the chamber. It was an upbeat feeling in the room, one of deliberate subterfuge that left them pulsing with sadistic appeasement, so little entertained them in their unnaturally long lives, that they were really only trying to alleviate endless boredom. Though the power that they'd both have to gain with this particular scheme did not escape them, it was the death and betrayal that appealed most. Deidre's involvement, at first seeming to be an inconvenience, for she assumed herself to be above them despite her naivety and lack of resolve when it came to the necessity of her father's death, was now a source of amusement and delight. To see the look on the god king's face when his only beloved child betrayed him to his worst enemy, that would surely be a most sating treat. In the mean time, it appeared the young mortal woman would serve as a nice distraction from the endless waiting that had begun not a full century before.

-*-

AN: So? Is it getting good? The twins should feature a bit more in the next chapter, devious little beings that they are. Hopefully Relena wasn't too OOC, I debated for a while about her stabbing Heero, being as it goes against her pacifist nature. Keep in mind she aimed for the shoulder, Heero moved when her eyes were closed so she hit the heart . Pun intended. My ego begs for a review, feel free to indulge or ignore it. Critiques welcome.

Relena: Heero, you know I'd never _really_ stab you, right?

Heero: Hn…

Relena: HEERO!

Heero: I'm thinking….

Relena: NOT funny.


	7. Chapter 6: The Princess' Price

**Amorous Mort**

**By:** Demon Tsunami

**A/N:** Finally! *Happy Dance* I was suffering writer's block for too long. I knew where I wanted to take this, but suddenly I couldn't picture it! Arg. But here it is, and hopefully you're excited to read it because it's my belated Christmas gift to you *Smile* Hope you like it. Also, as a extra I threw in a side story, it's at the bottom below the A/N.

**CHAPTER SIX: The Princess' Price**

Hilde was sitting at the window seat. She'd never seen this house of Duo's before, although that was hardly unusual, as he owned so many he frequently joked that he wasn't sure _he'd_ even seen them all. It was nice, cozy, a cottage in a remote part of the country, being as they could travel easily without modern day conveniences thanks to Duo's super natural abilities. Some days her life still felt so surreal in her mind, although unlike most mortals she'd been raised with knowledge of something beyond the mundane sciences of the modern age, she'd never fully believed in a god, let alone a multitude of deities. Wistfully she pictured her husband and lover as she'd first seen him, a frightful image of black and searing lavender eyes as he rushed to do his mistresses sadistic bidding. The memory still left shivers trailing down her spine, raising a flush of goose bumps across her exposed arms.

The weather was nice, although frigid in their remote location, a thin sheet of fresh snow glittered like a blanket of finely woven crystals across the hills and crevices of the land. The frost collected on the smooth glass of the fairy tale like home, and she pressed one pale digit to the cold surface tracing the ice patterns whimsically. Truly, she was troubled. Despite Duo's many reassurances to the contrary, she did not believe the word of the man she'd seen so callously man handling the mortal woman in his arms. He'd used her body as a shield even, wretched abomination that he was, she'd sensed no traces of the mortal man he'd used to be underneath the choking layer of black magic that seeped from the creature's every pore. A monster, Hilde's innate natural senses had screamed, a very hideous and foreign threat. It was what had allowed her to call her witch fire so easily.

She smiled then, momentarily distracted with the recollection of what she'd screamed at that _**thing**_. _Nobody shoots Duo but me_, even with the serious weight of her fear for the woman's safety, she couldn't hide her mirth at the memory that guttural cry had brought to her. Duo teased her endlessly for that comment, daring her to try her luck again. As if she'd really intentionally harm him. Well, not now anyway, he was no longer the stranger that threatened to eliminate her and her coven, she'd fallen in love with her would-be assassin. The time where she fought him, and had yes, even shot him, was a distant and dark memory, now over lapped with a million tender moments between a witch and a god. How had she ended up so lucky? The love of her life was hers for eternity. She'd battled a royal goddess for him and _won_.

Surely, they wouldn't fail now. Together they were a formidable team, though she was far too logical to think that the force she brought into the picture even held a candle to Duo's. A constant joker, with a seemingly endless wealth of good humor, she knew that beneath that easy appearance was a man whose inner strength out shown her even on her very best days. He was everything she hoped to be someday, despite his past failures which she knew he still relentless punished himself for; he was truly a good and kind person. Who else would risk everything for their king? For a mortal woman neither of them knew, to save the soul of a creature who was animated by evil itself? This endeavor, if successful, would show the world what Hilde had always known in her heart to be true, Duo was a truly extraordinary individual.

"Babe!" Her face lit up as she heard his excited cry echo throughout the small cabin. She could picture the glee on that kind face, they way his amethyst eyes would sparkle as he bounded around their living quarters in search of her. She called out, not disappointed when his figure appeared in the doorway, still shaking flakes of snow from his long gold brown hair, a few of the flakes melting in droplets from his long eye lashes.

"Yes?" She asked; a smile playing across her lips as he shook out his long black trench coat, mirth apparent in his every movement.

"We have a party to crash!" He announced, griping her in one of his spontaneous embraces. She frowned, knowing she should be used to his random outbursts; often he started everything with the _end_ of the story instead of the beginning. It was confusing at best, and irritating when she was in no mood for guessing games. However, she couldn't bring herself to darken his mood, his uplifting spirits were contagious.

"Oh?" she responded dryly, dusting herself of the wet snow he'd managed to splatter against her.

"Yes, the Court of Memory is having a ball, so get out your dancing shoes, honey! This is going to be a real Par-Tay!" He laughed mischievously, "And wear that skimpy little number I bought you, just because we're crashing the festivities doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun." He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she rolled her eyes, shooing him from the room with exasperation. They were going to try and sabotage a ball held by the masters of subterfuge and deceit, and his mind was on what she was going to be wearing?? Men.

With a defeated shrug she pulled the satin dress out of her closet, an appreciative sigh escaping her lips as she held it in front of her before her bedroom mirror. It would feel nice to dress up for him, even if the dress wasn't likely to last the night; she supposed the best she could hope for was that they wouldn't meet the same fate.

-*-

Relena did not like this woman. Her eyes were hard and flat, like those of a starving wolf, and her frame was much the same, lean and hungry set in a stance that suggested predatory prowess and grace. She had collected her from the General's chambers, her cutting voice awaking her with a fierce command, dragging the smaller girl by the silver length of chain like one might lead a disobedient dog. She tugged when Relena fell behind, her impatience glittering in those dead eyes as she moved as quietly as a ghost cloaked in a white shimmering cloak. Disorientated from too much sleep, and offset by the elder woman's blatant hostility she'd meekly scampered along, her wide crystal blue eyes soaking up the foreign scenery avidly as she was yanked along.

"My mistress is quite displeased to see you, _alive_," She added the last like this was the most importantly disturbing fact. How such a beautiful face could sneer, turning the perfect porcelain features into a distorted picture of condescending disgust; was a subject of abject fascination for Relena.

"You make that dress look drab," Silvia told her snidely after instructing her charge to quickly change into the clothes laid out in this small dressing chamber. Why she was stuck babysitting Rashid's General's little pet was beyond her, although she'd never dream of disobeying her mistress. "Little to be done for it I suppose, I heard mortals aged at an accelerated rate but I'd never imagined it would be such a lost cause." Relena didn't quite care what this nasty woman thought of her, and though she dared not verbalize it she allowed the indifference to show in her eyes.

"Silvia," Dorothy's voice was like music compared to the hard tone of Silvia's. She appeared in the doorway looking blandly amused. "I'll take this from here."

"She's your problem now," Silvia said with a small amount of relief, handing her superior the length of magic chain. Dorothy watched the younger general leave with wry amusement, as in a huff the door slammed and it was once again pleasantly quite in the close quarters. She eyed the young mortal girl, who looked quite pale staring timidly at her through the reflective glass she sat before.

"Don't mind Silvia, her youth makes her impetuous, and her ignorance can cause her to be quite intolerable to those who don't know her well," Her smile was beautiful, and she bestowed it on Relena with ease, liking the small mortal girl despite the lack of logic behind her reasoning. Her nose wrinkled, turning from the mirror with a shy grin playing at her mouth.

"She wasn't so bad," She told the strange woman, noting that she wore an almost identical cloak to the one the first one had. Dorothy raise one eyebrow, not commenting but her expression plainly telling the mortal that she knew differently. Standing behind her charge, she touched the shortened strands of gold brown, fingering the softness as she contemplated what could be done with so little.

An hour later she was, if not impressed, pleased with the result. The mortal's eyes took in her changed appearance in wonder, as Dorothy had not let her see a mirror until it was done. Gone was the pallid blonde girl with deep circles beneath her eyes, in her place was a glittering pale beauty dressed in navy silk, her short hair swept up in an assortment of gemmed clips. Tentatively she ran a finger across a large emerald stone on one bronze barrette, she'd never put on this much make up in her life. Not even for her particular ex-fiancé. It was as stunning as it was unsettling to see herself changed so much by just the applicant of creams and powder.

As she gazed into the mirror, marking the minute changes in her reflection, eyeing the soft dark blue silk in awe (she'd never worn anything nearly so nice), she thought she saw something in the corner of the glass. For an instant she'd sworn she'd seen someone peering from the open doorway, a sliver of gold and iridescent white. Almost like an angel, the creature looked ethereal, radiating light, a soft buttery glow, and she knew that that was impossible. A trick of the eyes, a misconception of light. As soon as she saw it the figure was gone, disappeared, as if it were never there. She must be under too much stress; the duress of the last few days had tired her mind, allowing her imagination to run free. The most unsettling thing about this vision? In that split second glance, a blur really, she'd seen only two distinctions, the gold light, and large eyes the color of glittering lava rock. Deep and bottomless pits of nothing, a pair of inhuman eyes that sent a shiver racing up her spine.

"Nervous?" Deidre asked, noticing the small shudder. Relena nodded, trying to set aside her unsettling imagination and deal with her reality, which was lately turning out to be just as surreal. She'd felt like the sacrificial lamb this morning, sure that the cruel woman had come to collect her for more insidious purposes then a makeover. She still wasn't certain of their intent, was she being dressed up like a turkey only to be fed to the wolves? She nodded slowly in response to the woman's question, taking in her intent expression, wondering if she could trust anyone. She was a captive after all; the glittering silver chain wrapped around her jugular was a constant reminder.

"Can you tell me what's happening?" She hadn't asked the other woman; sure that she wouldn't get a response.

"Rashid and Domtar are hosting a ball," at the curious blank look the girl gave she elaborated, "the General's masters, twin gods, they are celebrating the Royal Princess' visit." This information was hardly confidential, and Dorothy felt loathe to toss this young innocent into the lion's den without a clue as to what was happening. The twins were a force to be reckoned with, her mistress underestimated them, and the General would hardly see fit to inform his newest possession. Of what she'd seen of the man, he was tight lipped at best, a very undesirable quality in a man by her standards. Of course, she was insatiable when it came to information, so maybe it was more her ire at his refusal to answer her questions, more than the actual man (if he could be called that) that set her teeth on edge.

"Am I still in America?" Relena questioned, her brow furrowed as she tried to remember countries that still had royalty. A princess, a general, gods? The elder woman laughed, it was a joyful sound of tinkering bells, of a bubbling brook. She clasped the sitting girls shoulder, trying to stifle the giggles.

"You, my dear, are far away from most of what you know," It was a cryptic answer, but she needed to be aware that this was a far different setting then the mortal realm. "Priceless," She murmured affectionately, unable to stop herself. She was referring to the girl, that strong pull she'd felt at their first meeting had only grown with repeated exposure. "I'm going to help you," at the girl's politely skeptic expression she smirked, "I don't expect you to believe me yet," a dismissive toss of her golden hair, "but when the time comes, I do expect you to thank me." She winked, a knowing grin stealing across her features at the girl's shock. It'd been centuries since she'd been new to this realm, a young warrior desperate and in love, but she her memory was a steel trap and she recalled those early days, the awed fear and uncertainty.

Perhaps that was why she liked this girl, she reminded her of herself so long ago. More timid yes, and decidedly more innocent, but the similarity was there. A kindred spirit perhaps, she mused. What had that bumbling purple eyed buffoon said? That this mortal was in true love, Sadie herself had told him as much, or so he claimed. Dorothy's heart ached, something it hadn't done in decades, she herself knew the burden of an emotion that strong. Something that consuming could make or break a person; Dorothy prided herself on being a realist, and knew that it had indeed broken a part of her. A piece of herself that had long grown cold and distant, like a lingering nightmare in her sub conscious, it haunted her memory, and the multitude of years had done nothing to heal the damage.

"We'll be late if we don't hurry," Dorothy informed her, pulling Relena out of her thoughts. She'd been remembering a certain Prussian eyed man, imagining what he would've thought about seeing her like this, as stoic as he'd been she began to doubt he would've shown any preference. Her line of thinking had then wandered to his physical duplicate, without her meaning to; he hadn't been there when she woke up. That made her nervous, though she supposed she should be relieved. Unable to help herself she tried to envision his reaction, and unwilling to admit the sudden heat that rose inside her at the image she pushed thoughts of the cruel eyed General from her mind's eye.

-*-

The chains were secured painfully tight, biting into the flesh and muscle as he stood strung as helpless as a puppet to her ministrations. All his power, strength and intimidation was rendered useless, his lean body stripped of armor and pulled taunt against the molding brick wall. The surroundings were bleak, dirty and smelling of little use, a dungeon environment was what she'd had in mind when asking the twin's permission for her little punishment. That chafed. _Asking_ those two for anything was beneath her status, and she disliked the false humility she'd had to show at the request.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The sound of the pointed rod hitting flesh was growing wetter by the moment, the steel slick with ruby blood. She'd tortured prisoners before, and knew that overdoing it would place him in a state of shock, making him unable to feel the blows, the opposite of her desire tonight. She wanted him to feel the sickening crunch of his bones, the agony of his weak body falling prey to her cruel treatment. He should know the pain of his betrayal, the taste of her wrath at his failure to please her. He'd made her a fool, let that bastard win again. Duo, those mocking purple eyes, she would have Silvia gouge them out so she could have a keepsake of her former lover, a reminder to those who thought her lesser in any way.

She was more, so much more than this frail childlike façade her father had trapped her within. These thin useless arms, the flat chest of a prepubescent, hid the strength of a woman, and the enraged psyche of a royal goddess. Her father sought to keep her a youth forever, his little girl, not realizing she'd long outgrown his insufferable affection, seeing it for the ploy it was. She was stronger than him, this man who'd sired her, and he had hoped to keep this from her by weakening her, trapping her. It would not work, now that she had the means to overthrow him he'd truly know the meaning of imprisonment, she'd make sure he knew in detail her suffering, she'd make him regret every moment of ignorance and false love.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" She whispered coyly, her voice was soft, but the menace in the tone was hard. She was an endless sea of unspent rage, a churning pool of anger that claimed her, made her fiercer. He regarded her in silence; the mute look of pity in those eyes only brought her bubbling hatred to the surface.

"When I'm through with you General, you will see there is nothing pitiful about me," She spat, tracing the tip of the immortal weapon across his spine and drawing blood. "You will learn to respect me as you respect your masters, beg my forgiveness." She would not stop until she heard him beg, watched this creature of black magic break and kneel before her.

"You will kill that mortal, delighting in it," She continued, "because it will please me." Her smile was as far from happy as a smile could be. A twisted sneer marring an immortally beautiful face, and to drive home the point of her words, she snapped the rod against is torn back, satisfied only when she heard his first, but hardly last, grunt of pain.

**(SHORT SIDE STORY BELOW!!!)**

**A/N: **To those of you disappointed with the lack of Heero/Relena interaction: I feel your pain! I swear on my muse that the next chapter will be hot and steamy and full of yummy Heero-ness. Also, while writing this I completely zoned out for a half hour in the middle of the Relena/Dorothy discussion, like watching a movie I finally saw exactly why Dorothy is Deidre's general, and the story of her lost love.

**EXTRA**: Below is a bit of a spoiler, an explanation of why Dorothy is Dorothy in my story, some of it will come to play in later chapters (do not fear all the essential plot points will be in the story so reading this is not a requirement). But if you're curious (or just bored) I wrote down the tale below.

**Dorothy's Pain: **

Dorothy was a women warrior; in her day and age this was simply unheard of. Women were not meant for fighting, as they were a fairer and less intelligent sex, or so the men of this uncivilized time claimed. Her family had been murdered by a rogue band of soldiers when she was still too small to lift her father's sword, and she'd been saved by the most beautiful creature she'd even laid eyes on. The very memory of him haunted her dreams, her savior. As she grew, so did her hatred of men, though in public she dressed and acted like one, the revulsion at their simple minded brutality overwhelmed her. She never considered them sexually, had never once felt her heart flutter at a male's touch. Talk of these things was frequent amidst the ladies and tavern whores who gossiped in loud bird like chatter.

As she aged she never forgot the man who'd saved her, or the name he'd given her. Not once was she tempted to speak it aloud, betraying his trust in her to keep the secret. Unfortunately this meant seeking him out was impossible, and when youth left her, and adulthood jaded her, it was one of the few fond memories she had left. When they met again, this creature of light and immeasurable beauty, she had fallen prey to the cruelties of her own men. Discovering her gender, they'd left her close to dead, a broken thing in a pool of her own blood and vomit. In all the days spent envisioning her savior, never once had she pictured their second encounter to be so gruesome. He took pity on her, realizing her body was broken beyond repair, and offered her immortality.

She'd accepted, not knowing truly the price of such a double edged gift, and he'd whisked her away from her life of endless suffering. Her hero. When she'd learned he was a king in his own lands she wasn't so very shocked, his manners and fair features had always suggested nobility to her. He took her on as a palace guard, giving her a home and a life in this strange land. She owed him everything, and regretted that the only possession she had to give him was her heart. Never being someone who did anything half way, it was no surprise to anyone but her, that her love was as strong as her hatred. It consumed her, made her a bumbling tongue tied twit, burning and burning inside her until she thought she might combust.

Still young, and despite her ignorance of the fact, more naïve then she knew, she loved him in secret wholly and without reservation. Nothing he did was questioned, and as her battle prowess grew she made sure any who disagreed regretted their words. Seeing her desire, despite her attempts at hiding it (which were unskilled, seeing as she'd never known any feeling like this) he chose to place her as his personal guard. Someone who would give his life for him. She'd reveled in this honor, and though no word had been ever spoken about it, sometimes she fancied that he might love her in return. She wanted him to desperately, but the fear of rejection was too strong. It didn't occur to her he might love another, she was so blinded by affection she never saw it coming.

If he'd told her, because despite their difference in station they spoke frequently, if he'd just hinted at another the blow would've been less severe. But time passed, and she fell for him deeper and deeper each day. Syria, goddess of love, was the only one who refused to mock the once mortal girl's obvious infatuation. She alone of the goddess at the palace did not treat Dorothy with disdain and revulsion, the petty jealousies of the other immortal women did not affect her. Dorothy had thought this was because unlike the other's Syria was incapable of wanting the God King, but she missed the sorrowful looks the goddess shot her when no one was looking. She alone knew that Dorothy's love was in vain.

The discovery of her one true love, in the arms of another, a goddess Dorothy had never so much as seen, was like taking a cheese grater to her heart. It was lighting it on fire and poking the ashes, it was acid burning her from the inside, there is truly no way to describe that singular moment of perfect agony. She'd never once felt something that measured up to this, not her family's death, nor her own close brush with mortality came close. This was more than physical or emotional, the image seared directly into her soul, branding her in darkness and inexpressible torture. His golden light wrapped naked around another woman was startling, but it was the look in his eyes as he gently stroked her hair that did her in, she knew that expression. It'd been in her eyes often enough when she looked at him. To see it on his face finally but directed at another was more then she could bear.

She was truly, and utterly alone.

For eternity.

There is no telling of time when your heart breaks but your immortal body keeps it from killing you. Weeks, months, years of lying in darkness, of hearing only her own agony. Only Syria visited, only she was allowed in this tomb. For who better to understand the absolute terror of spending forever alone but a goddess incapable of love? He never came. Not once. He left her there, broken. It would be years before she was able to look at him without feeling like she might crumble to dust, and his reason for seeing her would be the seal she used to keep all those hurtful emotions at bay. She would lock that place inside her, never touch it, and hope that someday it would die off.

He came to her with a child. A beautiful child that looked like him and the goddess Dorothy had seen him with. Ignorant of her suffering, or uncaring, he requested that she guard this infant as she once guarded him. At her refusal he'd begged, pleaded, knowing she was the only one he could trust to never harm his only kin. She couldn't harm the sweet baby girl because though her hurt was as vast as the oceans, she still couldn't bring herself to hate him. It wasn't his fault he didn't love her. She never wanted his suffering, was incapable of the thought. Eventually he wore her down, and she took on the royal princess, the child-woman she would one day serve and call mistress.

**A/N: **For those of you who read this far, wow, I'm flattered. It's not much, but I hope it gives some insight to Dorothy's motivations. Like I said, the base facts will come up in the main story, but not consecutively like this. Read, review if you feel like it, I LOVE hearing comments/suggestions and I will tolerate abuse as long as it's constructive.


	8. Chapter 7: Chain of Reactions

**Amorous Mort  
By: Demon Tsunami**

**A/N: **Okay, don't kill me, I'm getting to the ballroom scene I swear, but it won't work out right until we know a little more about certain people. Like Heero, and Silvia (unfortunately she's semi important*massive hate beam*) and I want my favorite couple to have some more "playtime" *Evil Grin*

**CHAPTER SEVEN**: Chain of Reactions

"Her chain is fiercer, you should be grateful. Those marks would not heal so cleanly," She moved the water and blood dampened cloth across a deep laceration, her movements practiced and efficient. In truth, she had taken a fascination to this creature, he was singular after all. In her years of immortality such things as uniqueness were rare, and while this amusement too, would soon run depleted with the passing of time, for now she was avidly set on acquiring it. Her desire was fickle, and her wants unquestioned by herself, too used to the instant indulgence her position provided her, thoughts of anyone being a challenge hardly crossed her mind. Her mistress knew her appetites, and had accommodated her by letting her choose this task.

He moved not an inch, despite the pain the wounds had undoubtedly caused him, his posture was tense by absolutely still. Hard tawny gold muscles, lush ink colored locks; she dipped the cloth into the small wooden bowl and eyed his figure appreciatively. Of course, one of his most devastating assets lay hidden behind soft skin, those cold eyes that could drown a person in ice. She recalled her mistress' pleasure at the task these injuries had created, and wished she herself could have been witness to such a private moment. Through various administrations she herself had witnessed how bare a person was stripped if handled correctly, how the tender moments could erupt in moments of vicious delight. Not for the victim, perhaps, but for the aggressor, those moments were some of the few scraps of emotion left in her damaged psyche.

For she was a damaged person, as were all of Deidre's personal guards and generals. Her Majesty would have no whole woman beside her, not this child-woman; her grievances were mirrored in her subordinates, etched across their broken places. It was a collective strength and a deadly fault, not all had healed stronger, better, and the wounds fate left had disfigured several of Deidre's collection of the twisted and damned. Not always on the outside, these marks were scars of past lives, remembrances of a pain so deep it could not help but leave a mark, a telltale sign. Or as was in Silvia's case, a bleak emptiness, far colder and more damaging then the agony that brought it.

"So strong, yet tender," She mused aloud, tracing a spinal cord with one nail, careful to avoid the deep gashes. Her ploy didn't work; instead of questioning her he remained impassive, silent. Not the curious type, apparently. Hardly daunted, she attempted a new strategy.

"General," She savored that, tasting his status. Occasionally her appetite for the strange did not allow her to dine on something socially adequate. A general, even this mockery of one, a mortal with his mind doused in black magic, would at least be fair game, if not an equal. He had lived, in some form or another, as long as she; and his skills might even match hers, if he were lucky. "I have wondered," she made her voice sweet, stupid and sultry, most powerful men hated believing the woman they slept with were capable of thought. She traced another hand across velvet sun kissed skin.

"Are we through?" He demanded, not allowing her coy train of thought to complete. Irked, she scowled at his back profile, her mind racing in fury. Like a lash of a whip, it was there and suddenly contained just as quickly, left to simmer in the deeper parts of her.

At her lack of response he rose, shrugging off her delicate hand movements and standing at his full imperious height. Raising her eyes from his toned chest she met those startlingly lifeless eyes that tore through a part of her she had yet to discover, and just as quickly passed her over. He secured his leather belt, buckling it rapidly, and reached for his soft cloth tunic. She stayed his hand, her own pale one covering the masculine digits. At his patient look of reproach her muscles stiffened, betraying her outrage at such callous indifference, _no man_ looked at Silvia Noventa like that, as if she were invisible. Men died for her affections, sometimes literally.

"Such coldness," Her voice was a sultry whisper, she liked the cold, relished its bite, "Shall we see if I can help warm it? Show you some hospitality from the Palace of Light and Shadow?" the royal palace, where she was a terrifying general, a force of death and beauty.

"I've seen enough of your hospitality," He removed her hand as if it offended him, putting on his shirt and never once glancing towards her affronted profile. His shirt tugged on, he grabbed for that strange armor he wore, the glittering illusion of black ice in small perfect scales set between thick leather strapping.

"My General," She cooed, her breath tickling his ear, "You have yet to see the pulp of the fruit, don't be put off by its thick skin. This treat I offer will sate you, fill your hunger." A seductive smirk graced her porcelain features, emphasized the silky temptation she offered. Though she was at his back, she could hear his labored breath; she was affecting the man, finally. So he wasn't made of stone after all, and like all flesh, he had desires. When he turned the look he gave her stole her breath.

Rashid might have chosen an attractive shell, a nice casing, an appealing visual of flesh and male beauty, but that was all he'd achieved. She'd mistakenly thought that black magic moved him, animated him, like the strings of a marionette. This was no puppet. What stared out at her was not human, had never been human, it was cold and alien, strange and endlessly dark. A pit of nothing without beginning or end, a swell of insidious intent, a _thing_. He was not a mortal coaxed to life by black magic, he was the magic. A monstrous unfeeling darkness swam in those eyes, mimicking human thought and expression but never experiencing it. There was nothing there to be seduced. Nothing to charm or sway. A simple force of putrid evil stared back at her, and for the first time in centuries it was Silvia who backed down, unable to face what lay there.

"W-what are you?" she keeping space between them now, treating him like an adversary. His eyes became flat and blue once more, just eyes, no longer windows to whatever lay beneath.

"Pray you never find out," He told her cryptically, securing his armor and taking his leave.

-*-

_Those eyes, soft and brown, hard like packed mud, dirty with sins, gleamed at her with feral recognition. He pressed her against the cold locker, the chilled steel rose goose bumps across her flushing skin. She knew him well. He was her nightmare, her plague, her apocalypse. Promising to never stop hunting her, claiming her, owning her, demeaning her for his own insidious purposes. She should've known she'd never be free._

_"My little kitten," He whispered the pet name with malice, it scalded her mind. _

_"D-don't," she whispered in absolute fear, caught in his tiger glare. _

_"Don't what?" He demanded, stroking her long blonde hair. His eyes softened, becoming the sweet chocolate gaze of her once lover, a trickery she wouldn't allow to cage her again. "Don't come for you? Chase you recklessly? How can you ask that of me? You know…" He trailed off, caught in his own emotion, "I love you, unconditionally. I need you, why do you run away? Why must you do this to me?" His cry was pure agony, his voice pleading, eyes scanning her bewildered face. _

_"Please, please," She whispered, tears threatening, "don't do this…" He was tender now, talking of love and need, but she knew that would change the moment he was certain she was once again secured in his keeping. Then the beatings would begin. For her supposed betrayal. _

_"Kitten, you leave me no choice," He told her sadly, for the first time she noticed all the pressure on her body was not just his weight. Her eyes flashed to his favored weapon, a curved dagger, a family heirloom from his father, he was tapping it against the bare flesh of her thigh. _

_From then it was a blur. Her pleas. His force. She knew he was powerful, had seen the handiwork of money and position, how people bent to its whim. She'd thought herself safe, long gone from _his _city, the people who knew her, she'd thrown away a lifetime just to flee, to be free of him. Still he'd found her, just as he promised. He didn't expect retaliation, so the element of surprise was her only ally, the times before she'd meekly crumbled so certain of her defeat. This time she employed her self defense techniques, butting the flat of her palm upwards into his nose, almost as startled as he at the crimson spray that issued forth. _

_"You little bitch," he spat. A battle ensued. Limbs twisted, body pinned, yet she still struggled from her prone position. She raked his cheek with her fresh manicure, kicked his groin, shoved and attempted to run, only to be caught and subdued. His knife traced her cheek, the only warning before it slashed a clean line up her exposed forearm. _

_"This is for fighting back," He growled, he drew a small incision across her shoulder blades, liking the way she whimpered and squirmed. "This is for running…" He could play with her for hours, his little kitten. "When we get home," his breath was moist across the shell of her ear. "You'll beg for the pretty, easy death I almost gave you." He glanced up, just as the shouts and protests from beyond the door were escalating, and then smirked down at her as they quieted. "See pet? I told you this was pointless, everyone who crosses me looses." _

_ The door swung violently, a single profile blocking the florescent lighting beyond. A long shadow stretched, eerie and ominous as dead silent footsteps fell across hard flooring. She glanced up, still pressed across the floor, her arm and back aching with a burning pain. She felt James go for his gun, a shiny black instrument he kept at his ankle, and she cried out a warning. _

_She was too late, a gunshot had already sounded. _

_She didn't want to open her eyes. She knew what death looked like. Could she bear another life on her conscience? Another fallen in an attempt to save her from what she could only assume was her fate. A twisted brutal fate no one else would claim._

_Above her, James slumped, draping her with his putrid scent of cologne and…blood?_

_She looked up._

_"Who are you?" She whispered, staring at the smoking barrel of his gun. The arctic eyes of her mentor stared almost through her, the expression alien and foreboding._

_"Pray you never find out." _

Relena startled awake. She hadn't meant to dream. She clutched her stomach almost absentmindedly as a soft tearing pain shot through her chest, the remorse mixed with grief and regret. Would she never forget him? Would he haunt her forever? Those beautiful eyes, the patient smirk that was really just a slight uplifting of his face, the skilled fingers touching her skin and righting her position and technique. His gentleness had surprised her, especially after that fateful day. Although he'd never suggested a personal relationship, or even hinted at affection, she'd fallen for him completely, without reserve, assuming she had time to see if he'd ever return her hopeless adoration. He never had.

Now, he never would.

She sighed, smoothing the creases in the silky fabric of her gown; she'd drifted into sleep in his chambers, waiting to be collected. Hesitantly she traced the slightly upraised crescent moon now decorating one pale collar bone, remembering the way it'd tingled as Dorothy had placed it on the skin. She'd never had a tattoo, or a piercing for that matter, but she'd expected pain and maybe even blood. The mark the elder woman left had been like a press on tattoo, her palm growing warm and almost glowing as it rested above her flesh, searing the blue moon into the paleness, it had tingled warmly and then cooled. For protection, the woman had said, but her reluctance to name what from was evident as she evaded the questions with charming smiles. It made Relena uneasy, but she hadn't been given much choice in the matter.

People have energy; call it Chi or an aura as you please, but our emotions live in this space around us, changing our perception of the world and others' insight of ourselves. Relena had always believed so, had seen the dimming of her own vibrance in the mirror each morning as grief wore her down, wasting her youth and energy. His aura was crackling, vibrating almost, as he strode through immense doors, slamming them with little effort. The echo reverberated across the room, boisterous and demanding, a clash of rage made physical. Instinctively she curled into herself, holding her arms and noting the raised hair on each slender limb. His glare sliced the room, cutting her, and to see such bone chilling darkness there, on such a familiar profile, made her stomach clench and her throat dry.

He retrieved the bottle of amber liquid; his shadow flickered on the back wall, a wavering of smoky black bouncing across the weaponry's steel and hard wood. Some inner part of her had yet to acknowledge that he was in fact, not the savoir of her past, that the resemblance was purely physical and ended there. This naïve part of her yearned to reach out, to sooth the grimness from his taunt expression, to be able to at least know words of comfort to give, but this man was a cold stranger. A turmoil of rage that might lash at her if she wasn't careful, and what would he need comfort for? She was the captive, it was her choked by the chain he used to bend her will, use her, and she was the one suffering. His wrath should make her fear him; he'd done nothing but abuse and kidnap her, speaking growled threats.

"Are you all right?" Her mouth betrayed her resolve, leaking concern despite herself. He arched a brow, looking sinister, more frightening now than before, even when he'd held her pinned she'd sensed his reserve. Now that cage was absent, and she stared looking into the eyes of the beast he'd kept chained. Cold. Heartless. Her dead fiancée had a mockery of that look once, a pretense of consuming evil, this was the real thing. He closed the scant feet of distance that separated them, and if her throat hadn't closed with abject terror she might've screamed.

"Remove _that_," He ordered, his voice was raw.

"What?" An exhale of breath, she felt like she was dangling above the lion's jaws, waiting for them to clamp.

"Your dress," He gritted, as her eyes widened in shock, he reiterated, "Now."

"B-but-" She had yet to obey (thankfully) but the look he gave her made her feel already exposed. No lust there, no, not even the sickening glee of an anticipatory sadist, but a sort of calculating blankness. A machine.

"Did I give you the misconception that this was a question?" His eyes seared her, he was looming above, chocolate bangs dripping in his face as his marble profile regarded her. He moved slowly, gripping the thin silver chain softly in warning. If he ordered her again, she'd be forced to obey.

"Please…" Her voice wavered, she was truly terrified of him now, what did he plan to do with her? To her? Was this the completion of his earlier threats? "I don't understand…" Her clear eyes searched his face in desperation, looking for some hint of reprieve.

"I didn't ask if you understood," He growled, yanking the chain taunt and making her gasp. "I said, remove your dress." To her horror her hands began to comply, feeling for the pearl clasp at the back of the dress. Behind her head her fingers trembled as they fought to obey and she fought to stop them, her only saving grace that this dress had not been designed to be removed by the wearer without help. Weakly the tips glided across the tips of rounded buttons, unable to grip them and just as unable to stop trying and disobey.

"I-I-" she steeled herself, closing her eyes against the duplicate profile of a man she loved, "Don't do this. Please. I didn't mean to make you angry," her voice was clipped, she shuddered with the turbulent emotions running through her, "please…" She begged in earnest as the first pearl button was finally captured and quickly slid through the loop, only fifteen buttons stood between herself and…nudity. His purpose yet revealed; she was only certain that naked was the least desirable way to face this menacing man. She was deathly afraid of the consequences if she didn't stop this in time.

"Do you think me capable of pity?" He traced her jaw, noting the way her eyes moved under closed lids, betraying agitation. He sat next to her, watching her silently struggle against herself, as her arms would halt, tremble, and then resume their task.

"I don't know what you're capable of," She murmured, a light frown marring her features. Her arms started to sway downward and then jerked behind her once more, releasing another button.

"I was punished," He told her in monotone, in her surprise she opened her eyes to face him and another button pulled free, letting the bodice dip daringly low revealing the strapless white lace bra beneath. "because of you." At her beginning protest, or apology, he held up a hand. "I promised my blade was the only warning between us, remember?" His eyes narrowed.

" Now I've been injured again." His eyes met her in icy malice, "This time you won't be spared." Her hands trembled for an entirely different reason as the last button slipped through, and blue silk puddle around her waist.

"I'm sorry," She told him, not able to meet that glacier stare.

"No," he growled, gripping her wrist, "but you will be."

-*-

"Such formality," Dorothy noted dryly. The twins rose as a single motion, their slight inclination a mockery of a bow. Why these men, or gods, would even pretend to bow to her eluded her completely, and she did not like guessing games. Masters of deceit, conjurers of illusion, powerful creatures to be sure, but she'd seen true power and knew it wasn't in this room with her. Like all other things, these two simply imitated what they did not possess, and for most, this passed just as well as the real thing. She thanked her luck that she was not as foolish as most.

"We are honored," Rashid's grin split his golden face, his eyes glittering like onyx stones. "To have such illustrious company." Petty flattery, Dorothy scoffed to herself; they must think her as gullible as her mistress, an illusion she was hesitant to shatter. Perhaps their belief of her ignorance would allow them to be clumsy in their deceit.

"No," Her smile was cool, but appreciative, "I am honored, to have caught the eye of such powerful gods. How may I serve you?"

"My Lady, your beauty is renowned, but they never mentioned your gracious temperament," Domtar praised, exchanging a long look with his twin. Their mirror images always irked Dorothy, but she'd finally been exposed to their mannerisms long enough to distinguish between the two.

"They would not dare," She informed them dryly, daintily accepting the proffered seat. Their inner chambers were massive, well decorated, the couch plush and comfortable. She'd learned while here that this collection of lighted space, while appearing to be the solitude of the twins was simply another ruse. When not run over with company from the royal palace the twins preferred to spend all their time, waking and sleeping, in their torture rooms at the lowest level of their labyrinth.

"Ah, yes, well," Rashid shrugged, "There is much to be gained through other's fear."

"You wear your duty well my lady, but surely there is more to such an exquisite creature then death and battle?" Domtar chimed in. It was horribly obvious this was a planned speech, one meant to relax her, as if they were all friends. Inwardly her mirth abounded, as if one could ever claim friendship with these creatures. As if they were capable. The idea was amusing.

"Of course," She admitted, "What woman could ever fit under one description? We are fickle, of temperament and mind, and hardly capable of being pleased. So you might find me an ever changing, 'general' is just one facet of my persona." Despite her thirst for knowledge and her knack for seeing a situation at various angles, she detested this political maneuvering. This groveling pretense of false words and faked emotion, layered with deceit and intrigue, was too tedious for her liking. She was a woman of action. Still, she'd perfected these skills anyway. These underhanded compliments and insults coupled with underlying motive, were a verbal form of sparing, testing the enemy, and she had found that she actually excelled at it.

"She amuses me, does she not amuse you?" Rashid laughed, turning to his twin.

"Oh yes, very entertaining," Domtar agreed.

"You flatter me," She told them coyly, batting her golden eyelashes. She missed the identical smirks they exchanged in the brief lowering of her eyes.

"Don't think us too forward," Rashid began.

"But it would be such an honor to escort a woman such as yourself to the ball," Domtar continued.

"If you would be so obliged, of course," Rashid added.

"We do realize you may already have a man in mind," Domtar looked pained, as if her refusal would truly irk them. "Our General perhaps?" Too practiced, and forcibly well mannered to laugh in their faces, she simply smiled to herself. They were asking her to their ball? As her escorts? Ah, the irony of it all. Only a simpleton or a fool would refuse these two, and she was neither. Besides, they needed to believe she was solidly on their side, until the last possible moment.

"Your General my lords?" She tittered, cooing feminine wiles. "That blackened mortal shell over two divine majestic creatures as yourselves?"

"Too kind," they responded in unison.

"Not at all," She rose, they copied. "How could I possibly refuse such an invitation? I would be honored to be escorted by you both." Their mirrored images of delight unsettled her, but she refused to let it show. Just what were they planning?

**A/N: ** So? Anyone out there still guessing as to whether 'the general' is really Heero or not? Hopefully I've managed to maintain that much suspense. Ah, the twins, they're so fun to interact with, my little matching set of deviousness. Having already finished the next chapter (expect to see it in 1-2 days) I'll let you in on a secret, it's going to be a lot of HY/RP interaction, and then after that there will be the much delayed Court of Memory ball. So keep reading, tell me if I bore you, and thanks for all your support and comments! BTW: Penguinator27 the torture in the last chapter and Dorothy's story were my favorite parts too! (so if liking them is strange I suppose I'm weird too) I guess it shows LOL.

**Probably Meaningless to Most: **This is just a side note, because I know my cousin is reading this: Dani, please don't kill me for using the pet name 'kitten' like this. But if I hear assassin footsteps in my bedroom in the next week, at least I'll know who's after me this time… *Sweat Drop*


	9. Chapter 8: Seeing Ghosts

**Amorous Mort**

**By: Demon Tsunami**

**A/N:** So here it tis! I've revised this a million times, and a part of me is still panicking that it sucks. I am my harshest critic, I hope so anyway… Anyway, you didn't click on this to listen to me blabber. Special Thanks to the reviewers that have kept me happy and inspired! You guys rock.

**Warning:** Danger Will Robinson, Danger… I kid, in all honesty I just want to give heads up on the Mature rating of this fiction. This Chapter contains: Abuse/Violence, and Adult Situations. Translation: If you are an innocent child with no desire to be exposed to the darker side of life, consider yourself warned.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**: Seeing Ghosts

"I see someone's beat me to it," He traced a feather light touch across her shoulder blades. Relena sucked in a breath, she knew that scar, could see it in her mind's eye as his flesh connected to it. Pressed down on the couch that sat in front of his gigantic bed, her line of sight was limited to cherry oak dresser drawers, their gold handles glittering in the dancing light. He'd lit more candles after a curt order that silenced her pleas and left her immobile. Awaiting him.

At least he'd allowed her modesty; her dress was a puddle of brilliant blue on the floor, laying like a tattered dream of decadence in this stronghold of masculine tastes. At first she'd thought he might….force her. She shivered inwardly at the image, remembering the night before in vivid detail. His touch on her skin was not intimate, however; it felt more analytical as he traced her scar. Still, the silken venom in his tone as he did so had her on edge. A teetering edge, staring down and wondering when it would crumble. When she would fall. If she would survive the drop, or just plummet to a nastier circumstance. How much could she take? She would give anything not to discover that about herself.

"Busy little girl aren't you?" He'd discovered the other scars, lower on her back. _Hn… _A voice from her memories, she tried to push it back, _I know a defensive maneuver that would ensure…_ Heero'd only thought of her protection, never mocking the severity of those marks, instead he'd been compassionate. So unlike the man waiting above her, preparing to strike. The memory, like all others, was sweet poison, tempting to sink into, but afterwards her despair and the consuming feeling of being utterly alone, those would linger.

"Hn…" That familiar utterance would've made her gasp, shocked at the similarity, but her lips would not move, her vocals cords refused to emit sound. A hand rested between her shoulder blades and then splayed to cover the smooth skin there with rough fingers. "Since you've had experience with this before," his voice lowered, his body sinking to pose just above her ear, "I won't be taking it easy on you."

Crack.

The first lash caught her by surprise, her muscles jumped and then burned. She wished she could close her eyes, or see his face.

Crack.

The second strike would've made her cry out, but she lay there in silent motionless torment. Kept mute by the command he'd issued. The sound of it was threatening, the sickening crack it made, the dripping of cooling blood leaking around the fresh lacerations. It was all she could think about, every muscle tensed, eyes wide and mouth gritted closed, desperately hoping it would stop. He was dead silent behind her, his blows coming at random intervals, causing her muscles to flinch involuntarily as they were impacted. By the fourth strike tears gathered, burning her eyes as the pain increased, driving her mad with nothing but agony and silence to focus on as her vision blurred. Please stop, she chanted inwardly, wishing for a voice, a way to dissuade him.

Desperately she tried to move, thrash, wiggle a finger, something, she felt claustrophobic, sealed inside her own skin. She increased her efforts as a fifth sting reached from shoulder blade to lower back; the burn scalded the sensitive flesh. Only the sound of something being drawn across thick material punctured the deafening silence, and she tensed, clenching inside herself. If only she had eyes in the back of her head. Something soft and warm glided under her eye, catching the first tear drop, its trail still hot and sticky on her skin.

"You can speak," He rose, departing after his almost inaudible command. Still immobile, the first sound to leave her lips was a traitorous whimper, a sad little sound. She hurt.

"Y-you said you'd-" She swallowed, closing her eyes and searching inwardly for inner strength. "If I tried to escape again you said you'd hurt me. Why?" her throat closed, she had to remember this was not _him_. This was some freakish look-alike, a wolf in sheep's skin. "Why hurt me now? What did I do?" If he was going to throw random fits of temper and take it out on her, she'd like advance warning. Or at least a grim knowledge that it was a possibility.

Instead of answering he walked into her line of vision, "Sit up." She obeyed, the chain's forced obedience grated on her, but its strength of compulsion was too much to overpower. She regarded him warily, trying not to betray how much hurt that one little movement had caused. He flipped the black steel buckle of his shoulder armor, unlocking it, letting the breast plate droop and then fall as the second was released. The back piece was then removed, only a few leather straps hindered this, and she notice how careful his motions were, almost tentative. In a clean swipe of his arm his tunic fluttered to the ground, resting close to the puddle of blue silk.

She gasped when he turned, horrified by the gruesome spectacle. Deep purple and green welts had surface across his back, some sliced through in jagged tears of flesh. Only when she attempted to cover her mouth in shock did she realize his last command hadn't given her any mobility, just allowed her to sit. She didn't care, for the moment she was transfixed by the brutality of the fresh wounds. There was no need to inspect her wounds to compare; his were ten times hers, at least. Three slices slashed right to left down the welted skin, but the worst of these was the largest wound, a thick splitting of flesh from shoulder blade to the top seam of his black leggings. It had obviously been made by multiple strikes, and the flesh around it was almost black with bruising. The pain he must be in had to be immense, but he showed little strain, turning to face her with empty blue eyes. Their eyes locked, and the silence stretched, she swallowed and looked away first, haunted by the familiarity those bottomless blue orbs provoked.

"Pretty," A dry feminine voice toned from the opened doorway. Steel eyes, the color of sharp sapphires, shot over to where Dorothy stood. Gone was her iridescent white cloak that had shrouded her figure since she'd entered this palace. Instead she looked, well, beautiful seemed too dull a word for the crimson splendor and golden radiance of the older woman. Cherry red and pale gold was an enchanting combination, her hair falling in gold rivers down a gown that belonged in the Victorian era.

"What General? Do you not like the compliment?" Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were flinty as she regarded him. "I would recognize my mistress' handiwork anywhere. I dare to suppose this was retaliation?" She smirked, having glided over to where Relena sat, half covered, in her distress she'd forgotten she had nothing more than a bra on.

"You have a knack for horrible timing," He told her monotone, watching her like a panther might assess another predator. She laughed, eyes twinkling. Abruptly the amusement died from her eyes.

"Oh I see," Her breath was a hissed whisper; she'd gone to help the girl up, but Relena had been forced to remain rooted by the compulsion the silver links exuded. When Dorothy withdrew the hand from where she'd placed it, trying to entice the girl to stand, it was smeared crimson with drying blood. She inhaled a slow fortifying breath, her eyes distant as they locked with a cutting Prussian gaze across the room.

"To think I almost pitied you," Her words were soft, but held no warmth. "Good thing you have a defenseless mortal to take your frustrations out on, I'd hate to see something _valuable_ damaged." There was a rage inside her that threatened to overwhelm. Memories of another life, a girl left brutalized and sobbing on hard roads, her life leaking from her body. Men. The word was a gritted blade in her mind, a puncture to her thoughts, did they only understand primitive brutality, was this all any women got in exchange for affection and trust?

She'd trusted the men she'd fought beside, loved them in a sort of sibling fashion. Sure they were gruff, half of them on the run from various law officials, degenerates and thieves the lot, but they'd been her comrades as well. People she trusted to have her back in case someone else tried to stick a dagger through it. The way they'd used her, beating and raping her, leaving her to die after discovering her true gender, was a nightmare she'd never be free of. In her time of need a savoir had appeared, offering her the immortality she now possessed. Dorothy found herself staring into the hallow eyes of this pale blonde mortal, realizing she could only see herself in the similar profile. A weak human who'd been shown the harshest side of the world, a woman pleading for rescue and relief.

"At Deidre's request," Dorothy informed the general preempting any protest from him as she slipped the chain free. Clear blue eyes conveyed wordless thanks as soon as the links lifted, "would you like help redressing?" She offered, the only appeasement she could give under the other general's hateful glare.

"That won't be necessary," he spoke for her, and Dorothy swallowed the disgust that rose.

"Oh? I see," Her narrowed eyed stare conveyed how much she did see. How little escaped her notice.

She smiled softly down at the trapped girl, gripping her shoulder and delivering a reassuring squeeze over the mark she'd placed there earlier. "Take care then." She began to glide from the room, her ornate dress not even so much as rustling while she did so. She paused, an errant thought running through her mind; smirking she turned a magnanimous gaze towards the General.

"Have fun with her while you can General," Her tone turned frighteningly cold. "You know as well as I that they plan on disposing of her tonight." She didn't mean to scare the girl. She turned her face away from the torment in those cloud blue eyes, lest the General see how the mortal girl's terror affected her. Any assurance she might offer hindered on the seemingly unaffected presence of the general. If he found this girl's death acceptable then that purple eyed imbecile was wrong, and so help them all if he was. So unfortunately, the girl would be left to think Dorothy was as heartless as her capture, but it had to be done.

The look on his face had been enough, though it was just a flicker of emotion; his master's hadn't seen fit to inform him of the mortal's imminent demise. Just as she suspected.

Relena felt numb. She barely registered the door reclosing. Lightly her fingers traced her collarbone, feeling the remembrances of the chain's weight. She wasn't paying attention though, her mind was a flurry of thought, spiraling and spinning until her stomach clenched and she could only hear the words _disposed of_ repeating like a morbid incantation. The chain might be gone, but she felt more trapped now then she ever had, not even her time spent as her ex-fiancé's captive had seemed less constricting then her present circumstance. They would kill her. Just like that. Dorothy's tone had been so matter-of-fact…so… Dismally she realized she was crying, little splashes dripped from her chin to her folded hands.

"Are you so shocked?" He enquired; his armor in place once more.

"Do you need to rub it in?" She demanded, surprised at the ferocity of her own voice. She was angry? Yes. She was furious. How dare he subject her to this, saying stupid things like he'd chosen to spare her, only to lead her to slaughter? Then he had the audacity to reprimand her shock? Like she was just supposed to smile and nod and go 'oh, time for me to die already?' Like it was nothing? Maybe it was nothing to him, and these strange people, but her life held value to her. She'd been living it for quite some time now, and she wasn't quite ready to give it up so easily. She shivered, feeling as if the room temperature had dropped.

"You should thank me for the extra time I gave you," He informed her, his expression unreadable.

"Hah!" She spat the word, "Thanks ever so much for kidnapping me, trying to rape me, and beating me." Her defiant blue stare met his deadly glare without flinching.

"I was sent to kill you," His tone was cool, calm. "I only threatened rape, though we both know I had opportunity enough to follow through," his stare captured her, bound her to the emotionless voice that stated hard meaningless facts at her. "As for hurting you, it's obvious you've had worse." He regarded her regally, "so don't blame me for the end of your short mortal life, I've done nothing but aid you."

"You're unbelievable," She voiced, eyeing him in wonder. Had she ever mistaken this unfeeling monster for Heero? "Do me a favor, as my short mortal life is, as you so eloquently put it, about to end, don't talk to me. I hate you, and since you're as indifferent as ever, it shouldn't be too hard to pretend I don't exist." She swallowed hard. "Since it'll be actuality soon enough." He regarded her for a moment, and then dropped the blue silk dress on her lap.

"Oh, right," She eyed the garment with new caustic eyes, "Wouldn't want me to die looking unfashionable."

"If you prefer, you can go as you are," his statement was punctuated by a lifting of the mouth that didn't pass for a smile, it was too cold and devoid of all humor, "Although I wouldn't suggest it, I'm sure my masters would be amused." She tilted her chin haughtily, eyeing him in disdain, with jerky angry movements she tried to lift the dress over her head, but it pulled at her fresh injuries. In surprise pain and duress she let it fall.

She wasn't prepared for him to cross the room, she didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the right body with the wrong person staring from those eyes. He stood before her for a moment, regarding her silently. Gripping her wrist in a clamp of fingers as moveable as steel he watched as she winced, the tug this gave made her back muscles sting, the fresh marks still burned. Dragging her to the bed he ordered her to lie down. She eyed him levelly, without his precious chain his commands meant little to her. She folded her arms, mutely suggesting an impasse as he eyed her from the parts in his unruly hair. Blue eyes seared her, no longer remote; they looked like a sea storm, turbulent and violent with the sudden life that had entered them.

"I can still overpower you," He hissed, tossing her easily to the bed. She landed with her face in the rumpled silk, her back screaming protest to its many abuses. "Stay." He ordered, like one might order a dog.

"I hate you," She repeated gruffly into the silk, tugging the soft sheets across herself to hide her near nudity.

"Hn," He grunted arranging something on the dresser she couldn't see. She heard liquid pouring, the scuffling of objects, and tried to peer around him to see what new torment lay in store. He spun in a pivot of practiced grace, holding only a small bowl and cloth. "Lay down." He gritted. She crossed her arms, eyeing him speculatively. Heero had been bossy too, especially when he thought he was absolutely right, she wondered if this man and her dead friend had been twins separated at birth. They seemed identical physically but mentally… She cocked her head, eyeing the man before her; mentally they were Ying and Yang. Heero had been adamant about the preservation of life; this man seemed to exude an air of destruction.

"Will it hurt?" She questioned tentatively as he repeated his instruction to lie down. He arched an eyebrow, her breathe hitched in her throat.

"You should stop looking at me like that," He told her gruffly, sitting next to her without jostling the mattress. She turned her face, staring up at him in question. He dipped the cloth in the bowl, wringing out the excess liquid and softly pressing it to her back. She bit her lip, wincing against the simultaneously soothing and painful touch.

"Like what?" her breath came out a hissed exhale as he crossed the deepest of her injuries, a lash that spanned her back in imitation of the brutal gash on his own.

"Like I'm a ghost," He explained, the water dripping from the cloth was the color of rust. "I'm not your dead lover," the pressure he exuded intensified and she cringed, "I won't save you; I don't care if you live or die." She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew; damnit. She knew he wasn't Heero, was almost comforted by his reassurance that they weren't the same person, except for the fact that his different identity meant Heero was still truly dead. Gone, forever. Of course, she'd be joining him soon, if the blonde woman's predictions of her oncoming death were true.

"He wasn't my lover," she whispered. Her friend, her confidant, a pillar of strength and companionship yes, but he'd never touched her. Maybe, after meeting her ex fiancée, the idea was unappealing to him, or it could just be he never saw her that way. Whatever the reason, their relationship had remained platonic. Friendly, but never intimate.

"Don't lie," he told her flatly, "There's no need, it doesn't change anything."

"So why would I bother lying?" She retorted, irked for some unnamed reason.

"Because you think I care," his blue iris' flared cerulean. She went to shrug, but froze as the motion shot a fresh sting of pain across her back.

"I think," she told him dryly, "that you've proven plenty exactly how much you don't care." She felt the cloth pause on her lower back letting droplets of water stream down her sides, chilling the skin. A finger touched one of the wounds and she jerked, clenching her jaw as a cry tore through her lips.

"Do you feel that?" He asked; his question actually curious. Unknown to her he was referring to the tingling sensation that shot up his arm, the same thing tended to happen when ever his skin connected to hers, intriguing him. She tilted her head to survey him with an accusing glare.

"Who wouldn't feel that?" She demanded crossly, "If you're going to reopen my wounds I'll…" She trailed off, her anger deflating. She'd what? Leave? As if he'd let her. Struggle? Like it'd get her anywhere.

"Are you threatening me?" Contrary to the menace she was expecting, he looked briefly amused, eyeing her meaningfully. She bristled, light blue eyes flashing in irritation.

"If I am?" She questioned.

"I'll return the favor," it was there again, that dangerous violence in his eyes. He set the bowl and cloth aside, twining a lock of her gold hair around his fingers, twisting it and giving it a warning tug. Lowering his face so that it was a breath away from her own guarded one, he gave her a look that made heat rise in her pale features, a look brimming with lust and barely chained malice.

He traced the reddened coloring in her cheeks with one calloused thumb, a malevolent smirk stealing across his lips. Beneath her flushed features there was a hesitance, a fear lingering in her eyes that she couldn't hide from him. "Care to make a deal?"

She gave a brief snort of incredulous laughter, "Do I have a choice?"

Ignoring her sarcasm he continued, "I'm certain I can convince my masters to spare your life, if, you're willing to make it worthwhile of course." Her skeptic expression flickered between disbelief and hope.

"How do I… make it worthwhile?" She questioned, intrigued and fearful.

"In all fairness, I should warn you," he mused aloud, "Your pain amuses me, and if I do this for you, the treatment you can expect won't be better. In fact," his smile was empty, inhuman, "I would expect it to get worse." As he spoke he idly stroked her hair, eyeing her distress and discomfort with little regard.

"I've had worse," she told him bravely.

"Those scars your referring to are child's play compared to what I'm capable of," He informed her icily. "In return for your life, you'd be mine. Completely. You would never question me, never fight me, you would give me anything I asked for, immediately." He eyed her in speculation as she digested this, her slender throat swallowing hard.

"Death or obedience to you," she pretended to weigh her option in each hand as she sat up, feeling slightly better being to meet him eye to eye. "And here I thought you didn't care," she teased, trying to hide the nausea she felt at having the choice of life or death offered so callously. She tensed when she saw the look he was giving her, eyes roving her exposed torso and barely concealed chest like a lion with a fresh kill. A look of ownership that promised nothing more than pain.

"I'm waiting," He told her.

She gulped, her hands had subconsciously wrapped around her middle, shielding herself from his inspection. Insanely the only intelligible thought going through her head was the least helpful. All she could picture was Heero's eyes, the same brilliant blue but softer somehow then the man before her, the tentative clasp of his fingers around hers as they sat in their favorite spot. The smell of coffee and the bustle of patrons fading as he regarded her intensely, _I'll never let anyone hurt you like that again_. If only you were still here, she thought to herself, blinking against the swell of regret, because he wasn't, and this time her only savoir was also her captor. A cruel, unfeeling man whose intentions weren't really to save her at all.

I miss you, Heero…

**A/N: **So I hope this didn't disappoint. I tried really hard to make this go smoothly, well, writing wise not for Relena apparently. Poor girl.

**Heero:** I dislike the implication that I would… whip Relena.

**Relena:** YOU dislike it? I have _scars_.

**Author:** Does it help that this is AU and Heero's currently animated by evil magic?

**Heero/Relena:** NO!

**Author:** *Sweat drop* Everyone's a critic…


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